Look on beauty through a darkened glass, As one who views the eclipse of the sun, Fearful lest the sudden glories won Will leave a stormy blindness as they pass -- (All this I knew implied in book and class) Let not your vagrant fancy run On starry heights nor in too distant grass; Expose your eager, questing heart to none; -- Yet I must crouch on low rocks drenched in spray, Hide in the woods to quiver at the song Of hermit thrush, and I must walk in those Hillside gardens where I go my way Pierced through and through by the larkspur's long Azure spears, blinded by a rose. |