reen tracery of fern to rust;
The shouldering hills to level dust,—
This is the law of rhythmic nature,
The ebb and flow of its may and must.
I hear the wind-harp's wilding tones
Sobbing a requiem o'er their bones;
"The golden-globëd skies shall perish,"
The harper harps as he wails and moans.
Wild heart, within thy ruby vault
Is flashed a purpose, free of fault
From great High Priest's own breast-plate splendid,—
E'en deathless life out of death's assault.
hat, though the sea-shell cheats the ear,
And from my blood, free-coursing near,
Unspheres the far and murmurous phantom
Of breaking seas that I faintly hear?
Of life beyond there come to me
Hints truer than shell's phantom sea,—
I brood all space, the past, the present,
And timeless realms of eternity!
The rose-lipt thing has lost its pearl,—
Death's chamber is its polished whorl;
I am a life, and feel of Being
No phantom touch, but the vital swirl.