The poetical works of Bayard Taylor Household Edition : with illustrations |
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 | The poetical works of Bayard Taylor |  |
L'ENVOI
I've passed the grim and threatening warders
That guard the vestibule of Song,
And traced the print of bolder footsteps
The lengthened corridors along;
Where every thought I strove to blazon
Beside the bannered lays of old,
Was dim below some bright escutcheon,
Or shaded by some grander fold.
That guard the vestibule of Song,
And traced the print of bolder footsteps
The lengthened corridors along;
Where every thought I strove to blazon
Beside the bannered lays of old,
Was dim below some bright escutcheon,
Or shaded by some grander fold.
I saw, in veiled and shadowy glimpses,
The solemn halls expand afar,
And through the twilight, half despairing,
Looked trembling up to find a star;
Till, in the rush of wings, awakened
My soul to utterance free and strong
And with impassioned exultation,
I revelled in the rage of Song!
The solemn halls expand afar,
And through the twilight, half despairing,
Looked trembling up to find a star;
Till, in the rush of wings, awakened
My soul to utterance free and strong
And with impassioned exultation,
I revelled in the rage of Song!
Then, though the world beside, unheeding,
Heard other voices than my own,
Thou, thou didst mark the broken music,
And cheer its proud, aspiring tone:
Thou cam'st in many a lovely vision
To lead my ardent spirit on,
Thine eye my morning-star of promise,
The sweet anticipant of dawn.
Heard other voices than my own,
Thou, thou didst mark the broken music,
And cheer its proud, aspiring tone:
Thou cam'st in many a lovely vision
To lead my ardent spirit on,
Thine eye my morning-star of promise,
The sweet anticipant of dawn.
And if I look to holier altars,
Thou still art near me, as of old,
And thou wilt give the living laurel,
When the shrined Presence I behold.
Take, then, these echoes of thy being,
My lips have weakly striven to frame;
For when I speak what thou inspirest,
I know my songs are nearest fame.
Thou still art near me, as of old,
And thou wilt give the living laurel,
When the shrined Presence I behold.
Take, then, these echoes of thy being,
My lips have weakly striven to frame;
For when I speak what thou inspirest,
I know my songs are nearest fame.
1848.
| The poetical works of Bayard Taylor | |