 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Is Season in, when living things of Earth;
The herb, green tender sucklings of Her ground;
With all things that move on Her foster Breast,
And live by breath; áfter their several kinds:
Rejoice, reviving after Winters teen.
Earth seemeth new-bórn, of Héavens glad Gólden Womb.
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With all things that move on Her foster Breast,
And live by breath; áfter their several kinds:
Rejoice, reviving after Winters teen.
Earth seemeth new-bórn, of Héavens glad Gólden Womb.
Is She to-day attiréd as a Bride.
Of sunny warmth and kindly rain, conceived;
Her teeming Bosom hath the timely blade:
Which, ínfinite óffspring, útters from Her side.
Of sunny warmth and kindly rain, conceived;
Her teeming Bosom hath the timely blade:
Which, ínfinite óffspring, útters from Her side.
This Galilean soil, a garden seems:
So is purpled wíth all amiable flowers;
Heavens only Hand hath sowed, Her stony glebe.
To-day, soft blows therein attempered Wind,
A spirit of Life; and seemeth there no more Death.
In all mens villages, stand the orchard trees;
New blossomed blushing-white, wíth a sweet breath.
So is purpled wíth all amiable flowers;
Heavens only Hand hath sowed, Her stony glebe.
To-day, soft blows therein attempered Wind,
A spirit of Life; and seemeth there no more Death.
In all mens villages, stand the orchard trees;
New blossomed blushing-white, wíth a sweet breath.
Tingles éven the air, with subtle silver sound;
Vague Hymn of the least creatures, of Earths Life:
Shrill flickering hum of sheen small glassy wings;
That lifelings of a day, dance in Suns beams.
Hark birds' fúll-throated song, in breasts so small!
Both far and nigh, óver this smíling Field:
Embowered, mongst Springs new leaves, and silken buds.
Their fervent ádoration of that POWER,
They in their kinds perceive; but wit not of.
Vague Hymn of the least creatures, of Earths Life:
Shrill flickering hum of sheen small glassy wings;
That lifelings of a day, dance in Suns beams.
Hark birds' fúll-throated song, in breasts so small!
Both far and nigh, óver this smíling Field:
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Their fervent ádoration of that POWER,
They in their kinds perceive; but wit not of.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |