Those stars upon the clear blue heaven—
Those stars we never see by day—
Have in their hour of beauty given
A deeper influence to their sway—
Felt on the mind and on the soul—
For is it not in such an hour
The spirit spurns the clay's control,
And genius knows its glorious power?—
All that the head may e'er command,
All that the heart can ever feel,
The tuneful lip, the gifted hand,
Such hours inspire, such hours reveal.
The morrow comes with noise and toil,
The meaner cares, the hurried crowd,
The culture of the barren soil,
And gain the only wish avowed:
The loftier vision is gone by—
The hope which then in light had birth,
The flushing cheek, the kindling eye,
Are with the common things of earth.
Yet all their influence is not gone:
Perchance in that creative time
Some high attraction first was known,
Some aim and energy sublime.
In such an hour doth sculptor know
What shapes within the marble sleep;
His Sun-god lifts the radiant bow,
His Venus rises from the deep.
