Page:Words for the Chisel (1926).pdf/90

And fixedly as in a spell
They watch the serpent writhe and wreathe
Over the earth and on to smite
The glassy sea—and the marble, white
Stone sea uplifts a mist of light.

O, what marvels they behold:
The mountains settling fold on fold,
Cliffs that melt and rivers gold,
And mists like angels rising slowly,
Singing holy, holy, holy.

They are not souls, but flesh at last,
And the rent earth, under the ice,
Dearer than any paradise—
Into the sea their crowns they cast,
Into the air go up their cries,
With joy they rend their snowy guise;

And now they wait, transfixed with awe,
By the white sea—by the red flaw. . . .