WHEN I behold the skies aloft Passing the pageantry of dreams, The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft, A couch for nuptial Juno seems, The ocean broad, the mountains bright, The shadowy vales with feeding herds, I from my lyre the music smite, Nor want for justly matching words. All forces of the sea and air, All interests of hill and plain, I so can sing, in seasons fair, That who hath felt may feel again. Elated oft by such free songs, I think with utterance free to raise That hymn for which the whole world longs, A worthy hymn in woman's praise; A hymn bright-noted like a bird's, Arousing these song-sleepy times With rhapsodies of perfect words, Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes. But when I look on her and hope To tell with joy what I admire, My thoughts lie cramp'd in narrow scope, Or in the feeble birth expire; No mystery of well-woven speech, No simplest phrase of tenderest fall, No liken'd excellence can reach Her, the most excellent of all, The best half of creation's best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Nay, might I utter my conceit, 'Twere after all a vulgar song, For she's so simply, subtly sweet, My deepest rapture does her wrong. Yet is it now my chosen task To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; Nor happier post than this I ask, To live her laureate all my life. On wings of love uplifted free, And by her gentleness made great, I'll teach how noble man should be To match with such a lovely mate; And then in her may move the more The woman's wish to be desired, (By praise increased), till both shall soar, With blissful emulations fired. And, as geranium, pink, or rose Is thrice itself through power of art, So may my happy skill disclose New fairness even in her fair heart; Until that churl shall nowhere be Who bends not, awed, before the throne Of her affecting majesty, So meek, so far unlike our own; Until (for who may hope too much From her who wields the powers of love?) Our lifted lives at last shall touch That happy goal to which they move; Until we find, as darkness rolls Away, and evil mists dissolve, That nuptial contrasts are the poles On which the heavenly spheres revolve. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE WERE I BUT HIS OWN WIFE by ELLEN MARY PATRICK DOWNING THE CUMBERLAND [MARCH 8, 1862] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO CHILDREN: 2. BRAGGARTS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET AND ONE SHALL LIVE IN TWO by JONATHAN HENDERSON BROOKS EPIGRAM ON MISS DAVIES; LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW AT MOFFAT INN by ROBERT BURNS |