 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
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SPIRITS OF THE AIR.
All immaterial beauty, night and storm,And wind and light, assume a different splendor
To such as see with the mind's eye and render
Worship to Nature of invisible form;
The sunset is a cauldron, where a charm
Is brewed; and dusk, a mighty Witch of Endor,
Busy with mystery; evoking slender
Dream-spirits of the stars that round her swarm.
Who has not walked with such, not felt the air
Of their swift passage, on the wind from far,
And followed footsteps heard within the heart,
Shall never feel strange fingers in his hair,
Lifting his soul into some farthest star,
Nor of his dreams become immortal part.
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |