Classic Poem

TO PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON

O thou who seeing not with thy mortal eyes
Yet hast the sacred spirit of sight to see
The soul of beauty in Nature more than we;
Yea, thou who see'st indeed the sunset skies
And all the blue wild billows as they rise
And summer sweetness of each bower and tree, —
Who see'st the pink glad thyme-tuft kiss the bee,
The silver wing that o'er the grey wave flies:
We hail thee, singer who hast sight indeed
If to see Beauty and Truth and Love be sight;
For whom the soul of the white rose is white,
And fiery-red the fierce-souled red sea-weed;
We hail thee, — thee whom all things love and heed,
Pouring through thee their music and their might.