Classic Poem

Life wakeful over all knew no gradation
That Bliss in its excess became a Dream;
For every sense, each thought, & each sensation
Lived in my eye, transfigured not supprest.
And Time drew out his subtle threads so quick,
And with such Spirit-speed & silentness,
That only in the web, of space like Time,
On the still spreading web I still diffused
Lay still commensurate--
For Memory & all undoubting Hope
Sang the same note & in the selfsame Voice,
with each sweet now of my Felicity,
and blended momently,
Like Milk that coming comes & in its easy stream
Flows ever in, upon the mingling milk
in the Babe's murmuring Mouth/
or mirrors each reflecting each/--