 | Songs of Consolation |  |
I. Praeludium.
Voces in aere.
GENII TERRESTRES loq.
THE world is white in the mild moon's light;The lilies bloom in her silver sight;
Meseems some wonder is waking under
The star-flowered quiet of middle night.
From pole to pole, like a singing scroll,
The spheral sounds of the star-songs roll:
The air is gleaming with shapes of dreaming;
A mystic music is on my soul.
The spheral sounds of the star-songs roll:
The air is gleaming with shapes of dreaming;
A mystic music is on my soul.
The wonder grows, like an opening rose;
The face of heaven with a halo glows;
For joy or fearing, some charm is nearing;
I feel its wings o'er the world unclose.
The face of heaven with a halo glows;
For joy or fearing, some charm is nearing;
I feel its wings o'er the world unclose.
It fills me: there, in the middle air,
A splendour as of a meteor's hair!
The gates of heaven are open; the seven
Great angels glitter upon the stair.
A splendour as of a meteor's hair!
The gates of heaven are open; the seven
Great angels glitter upon the stair.
The flower-flame flies through the utmost skies;
The glory of heaven is in mine eyes;
I see, descending, a stair unending;
From pole to zenith its pillars rise.
The glory of heaven is in mine eyes;
I see, descending, a stair unending;
From pole to zenith its pillars rise.
And lo! in the core of the lights, that soar
And banner heaven from shore to shore,
Far fiercelier glowing, a glory's growing,
Is beaming and brightening evermore.
And banner heaven from shore to shore,
Far fiercelier glowing, a glory's growing,
Is beaming and brightening evermore.
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The lights unfold, as a bud leaf-scrolled,
And forth of them flowers a dove of gold:
My weak sight's failing, such glory's hailing
On earth and ocean, on wood and wold.
And forth of them flowers a dove of gold:
My weak sight's failing, such glory's hailing
On earth and ocean, on wood and wold.
It spreads its wings; to a thousand strings
And pipes, the height of the heavens rings:
The world rejoices with myriad voices,
The night is a living lute that sings.
And pipes, the height of the heavens rings:
The world rejoices with myriad voices,
The night is a living lute that sings.
The angels fly through the welking high;
The dove sinks down through the spangled sky;
Its wings are bright'ning; like awful lightning,
Its sight is nearing, is rushing nigh.
The dove sinks down through the spangled sky;
Its wings are bright'ning; like awful lightning,
Its sight is nearing, is rushing nigh.
The air burns bright with its streaming light;
New noontides flower in the middest night;
Its wings wax nearer, more dread and clearer,
A meteor hailing from heaven's height.
New noontides flower in the middest night;
Its wings wax nearer, more dread and clearer,
A meteor hailing from heaven's height.
I faint for fear, as the sign draws near;
The glory is all too great to bear:
Is there no hiding from the abiding
Of that divineness so fierce and fair?
The glory is all too great to bear:
Is there no hiding from the abiding
Of that divineness so fierce and fair?
The world is wide, yet I cannot hide;
The splendours flood me on every side;
The ocean's riven with gold of heaven,
Its deeps and caverns are glorified.
The splendours flood me on every side;
The ocean's riven with gold of heaven,
Its deeps and caverns are glorified.
Fast, fast it nighs through the streaming skies;
The great earth quakes as a God that dies:
My face is paling, my sight is failing,
The lids fall down on my blinded eyes.
The great earth quakes as a God that dies:
My face is paling, my sight is failing,
The lids fall down on my blinded eyes.
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