Classic Poem

It shifts and glides from form to form,
— It drifts and darkles, gleams and glows;
It is the passion of the storm,
— The poignance of the rose; —
Through changing shapes, through devious ways,
— By noon or night, in cloud or flame,
My heart has followed all my days
— Something I cannot name!

In sunlight on some woman's hair,
— Or starlight in some woman's eyne,
Or in low laughter smothered where
— Her red lips wedded mine,
My heart hath known, and thrilled to know,
— This unnamed presence that it sought;
And when my heart hath found it so,
— " Love is the name, " Ithought.

Sometimes when sudden afterglows
— In futile glory storm the skies,
Within their transient gold and rose
— The secret stirs and dies;
Or when the trampling morn walks o'er
— The troubled seas, with feet of flame,
My awed heart whispers, " Ask no more,
— For Beauty is the name! "

Or dreaming in old chapels where
— The dim aisles pulse with murmurings
That part are music, part are prayer —
— (Or rush of hidden wings),
Sometimes I lift a startled head
— To some saint's carven countenance,
Half fancying that the lips have said,
— " All names mean God, perchance! "