And standing as in God’s own presence-chamber.
When silence lay like sleep upon the world,
And it seemed rich to die, alone with Night,
Like Moses ’neath the kisses of God’s lips,
The stars have trembled thro’ the holy hush,
And smiled down tenderly, and read to me
The love hid for me in a budding breast,
Like incense folded in a young flower’s heart.
Gerald Massey
“Rich to die” is reminiscent of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale: