VI

For thee spake Beauty from the shadowy waters; For thee Earth garlanded With loveliness and light her mortal daughters; Toward thee was sped The arrow of swift longing, keen delight, Wonder that pierces, cruel needs that smite, Madness and melody and hope and tears. And these with lights and loveliness illume Thy pages, where rich Summer's faint perfume Outlasts the years.

VII

Outlasts, too well! For of the hearts that know thee Few know or dare to stand On thy keen chilling heights; but where below thee Thy lavish hand Has scattered brilliant jewels of summer song And flowers of passionate speech, there grope the throng Crying—"Behold! this bauble, this is he!" And of their love or hate, the foolish wars Echo up faintly where amid lone stars Thy soul may be.

VIII

But some, who find in thee a word exceeding Even thy power of speech— To whom each song,—like an oak-leaf crimson, bleeding, Fallen,—can teach Tidings of that high forest whence it came Where the wooded mountain-slope in one vast flame Burns as the Autumn kindles on its quest— These rapt diviners gather close to thee:— Whom now the Winter holds in dateless fee Sealèd of rest.

IX

Strings never touched before,—strange accents chanting,— Strange quivering lambent words,— A far exalted hope serene or panting Mastering the chords,— A sweetness fierce and tragic,—these were thine, O singing lover of dark Proserpine! O spirit who lit the Maenad hills with song! O Augur bearing aloft thy torch divine, Whose flickering lights bewilder as they shine Down on the throng.

X

Not thy deep glooms, but thine exceeding glory Maketh men blind to thee. For them thou hast no evening fireside story. But to be free— But to arise, spurning all bonds that fold The spirit of man in fetters forged of old— This was the mighty trend of thy desire; Shattering the Gods, teaching the heart to mould No longer idols, but aloft to hold The soul's own fire.