CHRYSELEPHANTINE
I
Among the hills and morning-colored ways
Let us go forth, oh, let us go with singing!
Within the hearts of better bosoms bringing
A gift of gifts, one day of all our days,
Unto the golden temple of God's praise,
And ivory altar of the beautiful.
The woods are deep, the woods are dark and cool;
Let us go forth with timbrels of rejoicing,
And lutes of love, and lips forever voicing
The beautiful!
II
The milkworth's pink and barley's gold and green,
Twined with the purple of the wilding pansies,
Shall be our wreath;—sweet as an old romance is
With pale blue eyes of some fair fairy-queen,—
Let the frail bluet in our wreath be seen;
And of mauve leaves and leafy loveliness,
And cool, green moss and ferns shall be our dress.
Let us go forth, arrayed as is the morning,
With psalteries of praise, to the adorning
Of loveliness!
III
No spotted serpent hisses near her shrine,
That God ordained, within the heaven-lit distance,
Which love hath built, with life to give assistance,
Of fragrance and of song; whereover shine
All of God's stars,—so many thoughts divine:—
And at its entrance moonéd purity,
Naked, keeps guard,—no eye impure shall see!—
But worshippers of beauty in the spirit,
And offerers of soul, whose thoughts inherit
Love's purity.
