And imaged on the azure air
The painter marks his shadows rise—
A face than mortal face more fair,
And colours which are of the skies.
The hero sees the field his own,
The banners sweep o'er glittering spears,
And in the purple and the throne
Forgets their cost of blood and tears.
And he who gave to Europe's sight
Her sister world, till then unseen,
How long to his inspired night
Familiar must that world have been!
All Genius ever yet combined,
In its first hour could only seem,
And rose embodied in the mind
From some imaginative dream.
O beauty of the midnight skies!
O mystery of each distant star!
O dreaming hours, whose magic lies
In rest and calm, with Day afar!
Thanks for the higher moods that wake
Our thoughtful and immortal part!—
Out on our life, could we not make
A spiritual temple of the heart!
