 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
257
AN AIRY VISION!
O God! what sight it were, some day shall be,
When Man shall navigable make the air,
“Dissociative,” as once oceans were,
And sail the airy Main like watery sea;
For Nature's lock of many wards the key
Of Science opens, and the wonders there,
Reserved, to spur him on still more to dare;
Far reach her hands and far her eyes can see.
What sight! by balanced forces surely held,
The anchorage of Electricity,
To see our home (dear speck of Earth) propelled,
Like limpet on its rock, tides rushing by,
Swept with our Planet, and, with night dispelled,
Leap from the west, to time true as the sky!
When Man shall navigable make the air,
“Dissociative,” as once oceans were,
And sail the airy Main like watery sea;
For Nature's lock of many wards the key
Of Science opens, and the wonders there,
Reserved, to spur him on still more to dare;
Far reach her hands and far her eyes can see.
What sight! by balanced forces surely held,
The anchorage of Electricity,
To see our home (dear speck of Earth) propelled,
Like limpet on its rock, tides rushing by,
Swept with our Planet, and, with night dispelled,
Leap from the west, to time true as the sky!
As one long lost in some strange, wondrous maze,
With whispers, sounds mysterious in his ears,
And sights confirmative of what he hears,
Gleams, glimpses, gone ere he their course can trace,
Whence, whither, with which yet suggestion plays;
At length feels in his hand, 'twixt hopes and fears,
As pilot glimpse of star by which he steers,
Supposèd clue, and tremblingly obeys
Its light and leading. So do I with this;
In this great thought I grope about to find
The clue; my soul wrapt in the unknown bliss.
And, as between two thunderclouds, my mind,
The point of contact, as a focus is
Of light and sound, no longer deaf or blind.
With whispers, sounds mysterious in his ears,
And sights confirmative of what he hears,
Gleams, glimpses, gone ere he their course can trace,
Whence, whither, with which yet suggestion plays;
At length feels in his hand, 'twixt hopes and fears,
As pilot glimpse of star by which he steers,
Supposèd clue, and tremblingly obeys
Its light and leading. So do I with this;
In this great thought I grope about to find
The clue; my soul wrapt in the unknown bliss.
And, as between two thunderclouds, my mind,
The point of contact, as a focus is
Of light and sound, no longer deaf or blind.
| Stones from The Quarry | |