A VISION OF POETS.
187
"I soar—I am drawn up like the lark
To its white cloud! So high my mark,
Albeit my wing is small and dark!
To its white cloud! So high my mark,
Albeit my wing is small and dark!
"I ask no wages—seek no fame!
Sew me, for shroud round face and name,
God's banner of the oriflamme.
Sew me, for shroud round face and name,
God's banner of the oriflamme.
"I only would have leave to loose
(In tears and blood, if so He choose,
Mine inward music out to use.
(In tears and blood, if so He choose,
Mine inward music out to use.
"I only would he spent—in pain
And loss, perchance—hut not in vain,
Upon the sweetness of that strain,—
And loss, perchance—hut not in vain,
Upon the sweetness of that strain,—
"Only project, beyond the hound
Of mine own life, so lost and found,
My voice, and live on in its sound,—
Of mine own life, so lost and found,
My voice, and live on in its sound,—
"Only embrace and he embraced
By fiery ends,—whereby to waste,
And light God's future with my past!"
By fiery ends,—whereby to waste,
And light God's future with my past!"
The angel's smile grew more divine—
The mortal speaking—ay, its shine
Swelled fuller, like a choir-note fine,
The mortal speaking—ay, its shine
Swelled fuller, like a choir-note fine,
Till the broad gloriole, round his brow,
Did vibrate with the light below;
But what he said I do not know.
Did vibrate with the light below;
But what he said I do not know.
Nor know I if the man who prayed,
Rose up accepted, unforbade,
From the church-floor where he was laid,—
Rose up accepted, unforbade,
From the church-floor where he was laid,—
Nor if a listening life did run
Through the king-poets, glossing down
Their eyes capacious of renown.
Through the king-poets, glossing down
Their eyes capacious of renown.
My soul, which saw these things, was blind
By what it looked on! I can find
No certain count of things behind.
By what it looked on! I can find
No certain count of things behind.
