 | Passion-Flowers |  |
114
ENTBEHREN.
Oh! happy he who never held
In trembling arms a form adored!
Oh! happy he who never yet
On worshipped lips love's kisses poured!
In trembling arms a form adored!
Oh! happy he who never yet
On worshipped lips love's kisses poured!
Though, worn in weary ways of thought,
Thy lonely soul eat pilgrim-bread;
Though smiling Beauty in thy path
Her banquet of delights should spread,
Thy lonely soul eat pilgrim-bread;
Though smiling Beauty in thy path
Her banquet of delights should spread,
And bare to thee her rosy breast,
And pour for thee the golden wine
That throngs thy brain with visions blest,
Each than the last more inly thine;
And pour for thee the golden wine
That throngs thy brain with visions blest,
Each than the last more inly thine;
115
'Tis but the phantom of an hour
That fades before thy waking glance,
And not that high ideal of thought
Which forms the bounds of hope and chance.
That fades before thy waking glance,
And not that high ideal of thought
Which forms the bounds of hope and chance.
Bind not the giant of the soul
By bootless vows to wear a chain,
Whose narrow fetters, pressing close,
Its nobler growth shall rend in twain.
By bootless vows to wear a chain,
Whose narrow fetters, pressing close,
Its nobler growth shall rend in twain.
The Infinite, that sees us thus
Mould its transcendent form in clay,
Tramples our idol into dust,
And we afresh must seek and pray.
Mould its transcendent form in clay,
Tramples our idol into dust,
And we afresh must seek and pray.
And thou shalt suffer to be free,
But most shalt suffer to be bound;
Pour, then, the cup of thy desire
An offering upon holy ground.
But most shalt suffer to be bound;
Pour, then, the cup of thy desire
An offering upon holy ground.
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