A Woman's Reliquary [by Edward Dowden] |
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| XXXVII. | XXXVII THE HOLY OF HOLIES |
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 | A Woman's Reliquary |  |
XXXVII
THE HOLY OF HOLIES
My brave, marauding honey-bee,
Down the deep flower-neck you have push'd
Your way to some dear mystery
Of gladness, and your hum is hush'd.
Down the deep flower-neck you have push'd
Your way to some dear mystery
Of gladness, and your hum is hush'd.
20
Even in a blossom's heart there lies
An inmost chamber of the heart,
Mystery beyond all mysteries,
Where the last veil is drawn apart.
An inmost chamber of the heart,
Mystery beyond all mysteries,
Where the last veil is drawn apart.
Found you a sun-warm'd palace there,
A white tent where you lie enfurl'd,
A cell, a temple, a chaste lair
That holds the sweetness of the world?
A white tent where you lie enfurl'd,
A cell, a temple, a chaste lair
That holds the sweetness of the world?
O my wise honey-bee! such joy
Lives not, you know, with buzz or bruit;
Be happy in your hush'd employ;
I pause, I ponder, and am mute.
Lives not, you know, with buzz or bruit;
Be happy in your hush'd employ;
I pause, I ponder, and am mute.
| A Woman's Reliquary | |