Classic Poem

Woe to the man who having touched a Bride
Elect in heaven, a daughter of the spheres,
To earth descends and quits his angel-peers
And lives as man,—his very soul has died.
He who once wandered by a seraph's side
Through groves unearthly now with terror hears
The wizard music that with passionate tears
He heard of old, by hearing deified.

I marked the voices of vast angel-hosts—
And all with one terrific grim accord
Cried out in Love's name, “Keen-edged is the sword
That through that man's most hapless heart shall smite
Who of love-commerce with an angel boasts,
Unless as hers his inmost soul be white.”