Sweet, we are thine, thy vision is not far,
But close the temple stair
And marble altars; faint not by the way
And fall not, for the fair
Queen shineth like a star
At close of day.
Press on yet faster, lest there be delay.
The maidens are not silent: what a strain
Of love and sweet desire floats along
Their clear sweet voicéd chorus: is there any song
Like to their music, pleasure and sweet pain
Are met together, mingled in a chain,
There is no failing; e'en the weak are strong.
The sweet soft scent of roses fills the air
With silent music, even as a dream
The lilies languish and the censers steam,
Sweet sounds and scents are mingled everywhere;
Far in the clear blue distance climbs the mountain stair.
Thus with their offering of solemn song
The glad procession sweeps along the road,
With dances and with music, till afar
They see the temple: with renewed acclaim
The waves of song burst forth as each one sees
The goal of his desire.
Clear in the summer air it stands and shines
Like music carved in marble, and a song.
What can we say or sing
Of such a moment, for the swelling chords
Are broken of the old resounding harp;
