 | Poems, original and translated |  |
121
ON ENTERING ST. PETER'S.
Push back the leathern curtain of the door,And as thou standest on the marble floor,
Thou seem'st to tread on some vast, murmuring shore
Of a mysterious ocean-deep, where brood
The souls of ages,—vast infinitude!—
Transforming to a populous solitude
The expanse of shining pavement, where the feet
Of restless crowds that pace this vast retreat
Give to thine ear an echo like the beat
Of the great surf-drum on some reboant beach;
And the rapt fancy almost seems to reach
The music of a half-articulate speech,
Borne from some mighty continent sublime,
Peopled with shapes and thoughts of older time,—
Angels and men whose souls still Godward climb!
Thou hearest—thou rememb'rest now no more
The world without, its restless rush and roar,
Here musing on the inner, upper shore.
Sounds from the spirit's own eternal home
Float round thy soul beneath that airy dome,
Giving thy thoughts freedom to rest, and roam
On wings uplifted through the firmament,
Soaring with energies unworn, unspent,
In boundless aspiration and content.
| Poems, original and translated | |