PERCHANCE our @3inward@1 world may partly be But @3outward@1 Nature's fine epitome; Now, o'er it floats some cloud of tender pain Too frail to hold the sad reserves of rain; And now behold some breezy impulse run O'er Thought's bright surface, glittering in the sun; Whereon, like birds, the flocks of fancy throng, And all is peace and sweetness, light and song: Anon, dim moods like shadowy woodlands rise As 'twere between the spirit's earth and skies: All fair suggestions, hints of twilight grace, Safe harborage seek within the spellbound space; Music is there, low laughter, and the sound Of fairy voices, echoing gently round The cool recesses of the veiled mind: While on the surge of memory's phantom wind, Ghosts of dead loves, swathed in a silvery mist Pass by us; and the lips our lips had kissed, In youth's glad prime, unutterable things Whisper, through wafts of visionary wings. Ah, yes! our @3inward@1 world but mirrors true, This @3outward@1 world of sense; -- it hath its dew, Its sunshine, and fresh roses, white and red; It holds a tender moonlight over head; The dews of yearning, mild, or fiery-bright, The flowers of peace, or passion; the calm light Of reasoning thought, and retrospection fine, All merged in subtlest beauty -- half divine! It hath its mounts of vision, and its vales Of contemplation, where fond nightingales, Born of the brain, and 'gainst some thorns of woe, Setting their breasts -- but sing more sweetly so: Fountains it owns of shyest fantasie; Glad streams of inspiration, swift and free, Rolling toward Thought's central ocean vast Wherein all lesser forms of thought, at last Sink, as the rivulets perish in a sea; -- Thus, rounded, whole, our spirit-landscapes be, Our spirit-world thus perfect; over all, No clouds of doubt hang, stifling as a pall; But if the soul be healthful, noble, high, God's promise lights it, like a sleepless eye! |