Classic Poem

I.

How like a swan, cleaving the azure sky,
The voice upsoars of thy triumphant song,
That, whirled awhile resistlessly along
By the great sweep of threatening harmony,
Seemed, overmatched, to struggle helplessly
With that impetuous music; yet ere long
Escaping from the current fierce and strong,
Pierees the clear crystalline vault on high!
And I too am upborne with thee together
In circles ever narrowing, round and round,
Over the clouds and sunshine — who erewhile,
Like a blest bird of charmed summer weather
In the blue shadow of some foamless isle,
Was floating on the billows of sweet sound.

II.

When the mute voice returns from whence it came,
The silence of a momentary awe,
A brief submission to the eternal law
Of beauty, doth to every heart proclaim
A Spirit has been summoned; yea, the same
Whose dwelling is the inmost human heart,
Which will not from that home and haunt depart —
Which nothing can quite vanquish or make tame.
It is the noblest gift beneath the moon,
The power this awful presence to compel
Out of the lurking-places where it lies
Deep-hidden and removed from human eyes:
Oh! reverence thou in fear and cherish well
This privilege of few — this rarest boon.

III.

Look! for a season (ah, too brief a space),
While yet the spell is strong upon the rout:
With something of still fear all move about,
As though a breath or motion might displace
The Spirit, which had come of heavenly grace
Among them, for a moment to redeem
Their thoughts and passions from the selfish dream
Of earthly life, and its inglorious race
If we might keep this awe upon us still,
If we might walk for ever in the power
And in the shadow of the mystery,
Which has been spread around us at this hour,
This might suffice to guard us from much ill,
This might go far to keep us pure and free.

IV.

But the spell fails — and of the many here,
Who have been won to brief forgetfulness
Of all that would degrade them and oppress,
Who have been carried out of their dim sphere
Of being, to realms brighter and more clear,
How few to-morrow will retain a trace,
Which the world's business shall not soon efface,
Of this high mood, this time of reverent fear!
In these high raptures there is nothing sure,
Nothing that we can rest on, to sustain
The spirit long, or arm it to endure
Against temptation, weariness, or pain;
And if they promise to preserve it pure
From earthly faint, the promise is in vain.

V.

Yet proof is here of men's unquenched desire
That the procession of their life might be
More equable, majestic, pure, and free;
That there are times when all would fain aspire,
And gladly use the helps, to lift them higher,
Which music, poesy, or Nature brings,
And think to mount upon these waxen wings,
Not deeming that their strength shall ever tire.
But who indeed shall his high flights sustain,
Who soar aloft and sink not? He alone
Who has laid hold upon that golden chain
Of love, fast linked to God's eternal throne —
The golden chain from heaven to earth let down,
That we might rise by it, nor fear to sink again.