 | English melodies |  |
xi
[In a world of things ideal]
In a world of things ideal
Liv'd a maiden long ago;
Nothing pleased but the unreal—
All her idols were of snow:
Moving thus in golden vision,
Unto other eyes unknown,
Dwelt she in a world elysian—
In a kingdom of her own.
Liv'd a maiden long ago;
Nothing pleased but the unreal—
All her idols were of snow:
Moving thus in golden vision,
Unto other eyes unknown,
Dwelt she in a world elysian—
In a kingdom of her own.
In her soul for ever flowing,
Like a stream of inner life,
Coming without thought, and going,
There were pictures ever rife!—
Paintings of imagination,
In which Earth could take no part;
All the soaring aspiration
Of a spiritual heart.
Like a stream of inner life,
Coming without thought, and going,
There were pictures ever rife!—
Paintings of imagination,
In which Earth could take no part;
All the soaring aspiration
Of a spiritual heart.
From the empty dark creating
Glories, hid from common sight;
Scenes of beauty that seem'd waiting
Angel-footsteps to alight:
Views which, while her soul was seeing,
Vanish'd without form or track;
And the mind that shap'd their being
Never more could call them back.
Glories, hid from common sight;
Scenes of beauty that seem'd waiting
Angel-footsteps to alight:
Views which, while her soul was seeing,
Vanish'd without form or track;
And the mind that shap'd their being
Never more could call them back.
Lost she then her life in dreaming
Of a sphere which had no birth?
Are they wiser who are deeming
All but Mammon little worth?
Is it nothing to inherit
Glimpses of that world on high;
Depths of that diviner spirit
Which we're told shall never die?
Of a sphere which had no birth?
Are they wiser who are deeming
All but Mammon little worth?
Is it nothing to inherit
Glimpses of that world on high;
Depths of that diviner spirit
Which we're told shall never die?
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