Bird-Notes | ||
20
VII. From Soul to Soul.
What was it but now that sped
Through the solemn dusk?
A keen a wingéd odour shed
Of mignonette or musk?
What was it that made us start
In the quick moon-beam?
The message of a human heart
A spirit, or a dream?
Through the solemn dusk?
A keen a wingéd odour shed
Of mignonette or musk?
What was it that made us start
In the quick moon-beam?
The message of a human heart
A spirit, or a dream?
You turned your eyes; you moved your lips;
I saw a sweetness spring,
A vision, an Apocalypse
Of angels on the wing,
Like kindling flame, to your soft gaze;
And in my inmost breast
I felt an answering frenzy blaze
Miraculous, mixed with rest.
I saw a sweetness spring,
A vision, an Apocalypse
Of angels on the wing,
Like kindling flame, to your soft gaze;
And in my inmost breast
I felt an answering frenzy blaze
Miraculous, mixed with rest.
21
Ay, there are things we know not of,
Spirits half-felt at whiles,
Immortal messengers of love
That visit us with smiles!
Else what was it, so fair, so fast,
So formless, so divine,
So splendour-winged, but now that passed
From thy soul into mine?
Spirits half-felt at whiles,
Immortal messengers of love
That visit us with smiles!
Else what was it, so fair, so fast,
So formless, so divine,
So splendour-winged, but now that passed
From thy soul into mine?
Bird-Notes | ||