Classic Poem

Shepherds who pastures seek
At dawn may see
From Falterona's peak
Above Camaldoli
Shine, over forests ranged and wildernesses bleak,
Both shores of Italy.
Open your gates, O clouds of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!

And scarce can eye see light
When the ear's aware
That instruments exquisite
Are raining from the air—
While sun and pale moon mingle their delight—
Adorations everywhere.
Open your gates, O sons of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!

Halo of golden dust—
Eddy of rays
Thrilling up, up, as they must
Die of the life they praise—
The larks, the larks! that to the Earth entrust
Only their sleeping-place.
Open your gates, O mists of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!

Opens Night's blue Pantheon
Its dark roof-ring
For that escaping paean
Of tremblers on the wing
At the unknown threshold of the empyrean
In myriads soft to sing,
Open your gates, O sons of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!

Hark! it grows less and less—
But nothing mars
That rapture beyond guess—
Beyond our senses' bars—
They drink the virgin Light, the measureless,
And in it fade, like stars.
Open your gates, O deeps of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!

Between two lamps suspended,
Of Life and Death,
Sun-marshalled and moon-tended
Man's swift soul journeyeth
To be borne out of the life it hath transcended
Still, still on a breath!
Open your gates, O sons of the morning,
O men, lift up your eyes!