Classic Poem

I know thee not, O Spirit fair!
O Life and flying Unity
Of Loveliness! Must man despair
Forever in his chase of thee!

When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt,
Then feel I that thou art on high;
When fire o'er all the west is spilt,
Flames at its heart thy majesty.

Thy beauty basks on distant hills;
It smiles in eve's wine-coloured sea;
It shakes its light on leaves and rills,
In calm ideals it mocks at me.

Thy glances strike from many a lake
That lines through woodland scapes a-sheen;
Yet to thine eyes I never wake: —
They glance, but they remain unseen.

I know thee not, O Spirit fair!
Thou fillest heaven: the stars are thee:
Whatever fleets with beauty rare
Fleets radiant from thy mystery.

Forever thou art near my grasp;
Thy touches pass in twilight air;
Yet still — thy shapes elude my clasp —
I know thee not, thou Spirit fair!

O Ether, proud, and vast, and great,
Above the legions of the stars!
To this thou art not adequate; —
Nor rainbow's glorious scimitars.

I know thee not, thou Spirit sweet!
I chained pursue, while thou art free.
Sole by the smile I sometimes meet
I know thou, Vast One, knowest me.

In old religions hadst thou place:
Long, long, O Vision, our pursuit!
Yea, monad, fish and childlike brute
Through countless ages dreamt thy grace.

Gray nations felt thee o'er them tower;
Some clothed thee in fantastic dress;
Some thought thee as the unknown Power,
I, e'er the unknown Loveliness.

To all thou wert as harps of joy;
To bard and sage their fulgent sun:
To priests their mystic life's employ;
But unto me the Lovely One.

Veils clothed thy might; veils draped thy charm;
The might they tracked, but I the grace;
They learnt all forces were thine Arm,
I that all beauty was thy Face.

Night spares us little. Wanderers we.
Our rapt delights, our wisdoms rare
But shape our darknesses of thee, —
We know thee not, thou Spirit fair!

Would that thine awful Peerlessness
An hour could shine o'er heaven and earth,
And I the maddening power possess
To drink the cup, — O Godlike birth!

All life impels me to thy search:
Without thee, yea, to live were null;
Still shall I make the dawn thy Church,
And pray thee " God the Beautiful. "