So keyed thy sacred song, O poet true!
With holy joy its very sorrow light,
So glorified with that love infinite
That shines as stars in heaven’s darkest blue:
Washed clean thy earth-born lays in that pure flood—
Thy cloudy mountains hide no fear save one
Of loving awe; though in dark gorge the sun
Falls not, e’en there the Eternal Dove doth brood.
Thy mountain springs are pure, wherein we dare
Drink as we will, not fearing, so bent down,