Classic Poem

Let saints abstract on subtle planes
Revolving occult theories,
Unravel all till naught remains,
And vanish then howe'er they please!
But as for me, in place of these,
The savor of flesh and blood! The zest
And blaze of vast idolatries!
This is the object of my quest.

Let saints who stoop to lift the woe
From off the living and the dead,
On with their heavy labors go
Till all be healed and comforted!
But as for me, I seek instead
Assurance to the sparkling crest
Of ecstasies unmerited!
This is the object of my quest.

Beauty to me hath been a name
Holier than all God's avatars:
The unconcerned, eternal Flame
Whose fitful gleams between the bars
Of space and time unto the stars
And outer vacancies attest
Elysium that nothing mars!
This is the object of my quest.

O, let me for a moment merge
Within the glory vaguely guessed!
Yea, tho' I perish on the verge,
This is the object of my quest.