 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Ascending fróm that streams glad garden-ground;
So fair to look upon, mine eyes discerned;
Neath yonder hanging óf the valleys hill;
Seven énranged, thrones shining against the Sun,
Of marble white. On them the Muses sit;
When tidings to them fróm the stars, be brought.
So fair to look upon, mine eyes discerned;
Neath yonder hanging óf the valleys hill;
Seven énranged, thrones shining against the Sun,
Of marble white. On them the Muses sit;
When tidings to them fróm the stars, be brought.
Reached thither, I beheld a sacred wood;
Environed round with antique únhewn stones:
Where none might enter, not initiate:
In Muses' heaven-derivéd intimate Art.
Environed round with antique únhewn stones:
Where none might enter, not initiate:
In Muses' heaven-derivéd intimate Art.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |