Classic Poem

The thoughts that trouble poets vex not thee:
Thy purity
Lifts thee for ever to a higher air.
Above the mists of life and all its gloom
Thou see'st the bloom
In blue skies of the star-flowers clustered there.

We weary souls must struggle, ere we reap;
Toil, ere we sleep;
But thou without an effort enterest straight
The golden palace-doors that we unclose
By fierce wild blows;
At thy mere hand-touch opens wide the gate.

Thou art so close to heaven and God indeed
That book nor creed
Thou needest. Thine own soul is so divine
Thou findest ready-graved and written there
Commandments fair,
Pure law by law, and sacred line by line.

If I would learn of God, I come to thee
And then I see
Straightway what long strange epochs could not reach.
Through thee, so simply sweet, I apprehend
Life's high true end
And learn as thine eyes, all unconscious, teach.