Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

Heaven still is with us, and the angels walk,
Seen or unseen, in city and in glen;
And half we hear their old melodious talk,
Half see them crown'd with glory as they walk,
When most we love, and loving most, are men.

Hence what surprise, what passion can there be
To step at once into the golden air?
Faith still is ours: what better men than we
In this ripe age of our dear world may be?
Hearts that believe and love do well to dare.

Step boldly mid the foxglove and the fern,
And kiss the vermeil lips of woodland rose,
And hear the warble of the tripping burn,
That sings amid the foxglove and the fern,
And sobs among the pebbles as it flows.

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Wade where the reeds and yellow flags are seen,
And mossy stones, a fairy bridge, are laid;
But cease, for gliding the tall flowers between,
The Playmates of the angels, glad, serene,
Chase the long sunbeams flying down the glade.

What tree beyond the stream, across the skies
Spreads its green beauty to the air and sun?
What golden apples, tinct with crimson dyes,
Thro' emerald leaves, before the glimmering skies,
Shine, as that holier fruit, on Eve undone?

O tree! that yet maturer earth shall bear,
O fruit! one day no fable but a fact,
O child! with king-cups in thy glittering hair,
Glad prophecies of what our earth shall bear,
When song and dream condense to noble act.

O lovely Forms! that over reed and grass,
Shed light and fragrance and a vernal morn!
O lovely Forms! that pass me and repass,
Here would I lie for ever on the grass,
And wait until the promised age be born.

Here would I watch those Seraph-lords supreme,
With radiant fingers, pointing, hand o'er hand,
To younger angels on the charmèd stream,
While the large shadows of those wings supreme,
Touch with rare moonlight brook and flowery strand.

185

Here would I see those children in a ring
Dance with the angels or with angels play,
Or hear the songs those crownèd harpers sing
To angels linked with children in a ring,
And garlanded with the celestial May.

So grace and gladness in my soul should dwell,
Till the old world again grew young and good:
And holier men should holier children tell,
How dreams come true, and how good angels dwell
By each bright hearth, and haunt each bourne and wood.