SOUL, spirit, genius -- which thou art -- that whence I know not, rose upon this mortal frame Like the sun o'er the mountains, all aflame, Seen large through mists of childish innocence, And year by year with me uptravelling thence, As hour by hour the day-star, madest aspire My nature, interpenetrate with fire It felt but understood not -- strong, intense, Wisdom with folly mixed, and gold with clay; -- Soul, thou hast journeyed with me all this way. Oft hidden and o'erclouded, oft arrayed In scorching splendors that my earth-life burned, Yet ever unto thee my true life turned, For, dim, or clear, 't was thou my daylight made. |