Classic Poem

I kneel with bowed head at the sacred shrine—
Adorned with invisible loveliness ornate.
No eye may gaze upon the priest-like state
Of that mysterious energy—the Line.
Upon the plate I see its symbols shine—
The circle and the X—but where it goes
Or in its lustral office what it does
No man observes the vigil and the sign.
Now what new orb, into the darkness cast,
Receives from it the circle round and round
Or from what azure zenith has it cast
Its staves of starry music to the ground.
No eye observes its introspective trance
The splendor of its procreative dance.