 | English Roses |  |
DREAM OF PERFECTION.
I seek a vain perfection, and I seek the Golden Land,
Where robed in resurrection light the forms of beauty stand,
And night and day in white array
At one in glory stand;
Where shine the archetypes of each fair thing we body out,
So dimly in our distant speech and darkly splendid doubt.
I seek the sources hidden and beyond this mortal sight,
Where grow the fruits forbidden in their loneliness of Light;
By sea and shore for evermore,
I seek that mystic Light.
Where robed in resurrection light the forms of beauty stand,
And night and day in white array
At one in glory stand;
Where shine the archetypes of each fair thing we body out,
So dimly in our distant speech and darkly splendid doubt.
I seek the sources hidden and beyond this mortal sight,
Where grow the fruits forbidden in their loneliness of Light;
By sea and shore for evermore,
I seek that mystic Light.
And O to be a Master in that throned and reverend throng,
Who rose to vision vaster up the silver steps of Song;
Who call us now with solemn brow,
From summits of clear Song;
And O to join a brother's hand and take an equal part,
With those that fashioned this free land and gave the imperial heart;
To walk upon the mountains of sublime and regal thought,
And drink of the deep fountains whence the mighty worlds are wrought,
And with my peers and holy seers,
Share in the wonders wrought!
Who rose to vision vaster up the silver steps of Song;
Who call us now with solemn brow,
From summits of clear Song;
And O to join a brother's hand and take an equal part,
With those that fashioned this free land and gave the imperial heart;
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And drink of the deep fountains whence the mighty worlds are wrought,
And with my peers and holy seers,
Share in the wonders wrought!
I want to win completeness in some little part of mine,
And raised upon unmeetness to attain the tops divine,
Where crowned and calm with glorious palm
The Makers sit divine.
I want to reach by simple stress the heights, whence only start
The purity of perfectness and ecstasy of art;
And thus I dare to wrestle with the mysteries of strife,
That I at last may nestle in the beating breast of Life,
And throb in tune through frost or June
With Nature's secret Life.
And raised upon unmeetness to attain the tops divine,
Where crowned and calm with glorious palm
The Makers sit divine.
I want to reach by simple stress the heights, whence only start
The purity of perfectness and ecstasy of art;
And thus I dare to wrestle with the mysteries of strife,
That I at last may nestle in the beating breast of Life,
And throb in tune through frost or June
With Nature's secret Life.
Ah, if the end proved fateful and destruction were the price,
By portals dread and hateful, I would choose the sacrifice;
If poet powers shed deathless flowers,
To deck the sacrifice.
I would not count the fearful cost which opened heaven in gloom,
If unto knowledge I had crost through hell-like doors of doom.
And though the inspiration were as dreadful as God's kiss,
The final revelation would but come to me as bliss;
When all on fire with gained desire,
I died in burning bliss.
By portals dread and hateful, I would choose the sacrifice;
If poet powers shed deathless flowers,
To deck the sacrifice.
I would not count the fearful cost which opened heaven in gloom,
If unto knowledge I had crost through hell-like doors of doom.
And though the inspiration were as dreadful as God's kiss,
The final revelation would but come to me as bliss;
When all on fire with gained desire,
I died in burning bliss.
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