Thy dangerous glances Make women of men; New-born, we are melting Into nature again. Lavish, lavish promiser, Which in turn thy glory warms! Thou inscribest with a bond, In thy momentary play, Would bankrupt nature to repay. Ah, what avails it To hide or to shun Whom the Infinite One Hath granted his throne? The heaven high over Is the deep's lover; The sun and sea, Informed by thee, Before me run, And draw me on, Yet fly me still, As Fate refuses To me the heart Fate for me chooses. Is it that my opulent soul Was mingled from the generous whole; Sea-valleys and the deep of skies And the sands whereof I'm made Draw me to them, self-betrayed ? Of Salvator, of Guercino, And Piranesi's lines. I hear the lofty pæans Who heard the starry music And recount the numbers well; Olympian bards who sung Divine Ideas below, Which always find us young, And always keep us so. Oft, in streets or humblest places, Which, from Eden wide astray, In lowly homes have lost their way. Thee gliding through the sea of form, Like the lightning through the storm, Somewhat not to be possessed, Somewhat not to be caressed, No feet so fleet could ever find, Thou eternal fugitive, Hovering over all that live, Quick and skilful to inspire Sweet, extravagant desire, Starry space and lily-bell Filling with thy roseate smell, Wilt not give the lips to taste Of the nectar which thou hast. All that's good and great with thee Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely And the cold and purple morning Itself with thoughts of thee adorning ; The leafy dell, the city mart, Equal trophies of thine art; E'en the flowing azure air And, if I languish into dreams, Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me! |