ADOWN the sapphire race-course of the skies Apollo, now, has whipped his steeds of fire, And in the court of Night has sought his lyre To sing his songs of deathless human ties; Then all the Gods are wakened with surprise To learn of love which equals their desire — A love through which men's souls are lifted higher, So high — they reach the gates of Paradise: — And list'ning here amid the even calm, I hear thy name rise on the flights of song Till stars re-echo it in heaven's dome: They tell me, dear, thy life is like a psalm Wherein the chords of love are struck so strong That thy great heart must ever be my home. |