Classic Poem

Deep firmament, which art a voice of God,
Speak in thy mystic accents, speak yet once:
For thou hast spoken, and in such clear tone,
That still the sweetness murmurs through my soul.
Speak once again: with ardent orisons
Oft have I worshipped thee, and I still I bow,
With reverence, and a feeling, like to hope,
Though something worn in th' heart, by which we pray.
Oh, since I last beheld thee in thy pomp
Right o'er the Siren city of the south,
Rude grief and harsher sin have dealt on me
The malice of their terrible impulses;
And in a withering dream my soul has lived
Far from the love that lieth on thy front,
As native there; far from the poesies
Which are the effluence of thy holy calm.
Thou too art changed; and that perennial light
Which there a limitless dominion held,
In fitful breaks doth shoot along yon mist,
And trembles at its own dissimilar pureness.
Yet is thy bondage beautiful; the clouds
Drink beauty from the spirit of thy forms,
Yea, from the sacred orbits borrow grace,
To modulate their wayward phantasies.
But they are trifles: in thyself alone,
And the suffusion of thy starry light
Firmly abide in their concordant joy,
Beauty, and music, and primeval love:
And thence may man learn an imperial truth,
That duty is the being of the soul,
And in that form alone can freedom move.
Such is your mighty language, lights of heaven:
Oh, thrill me with its plenitude of sound,
Make me to feel, not to talk of, sovranty,
And harmonize my spirit with my God!