Classic Poem

SCENE — The Sun.

F ESTUS . Soul of the world, divine Necessity,
Servant of God, and master of all things!
Here, in the Heaven of light's eternal noon,
First see I all things clear: from end to end
The divine cycle of the soul of man;
How spirit, soul, mind, life, flesh, feeling, mix,
And how, withal they each reciprocate,
As ocean, earth, air, fire, and wind; how flow
The streams of feeling, and the cataracts
Of passion; mine and mountain, this of pride,
And that of covetousness. Man I know;
The human universe, and the divine
And central fate; know all must be fulfilled
Of nature that there is; of sin and strife,
Peace, righteousness, change, self-delusion, self-
Destruction, ere the earth can take new life,
Or man become the minister of God.
The world and man are just reciprocal,
Yet contrary. Spirit invadeth sense
And carries captive Nature. Be this true,
All good is Heaven, and all ill is Hell.
All things are means for greater good. Thou, Sun,
Art just a giant slave, a god in bonds.
The summit-flower of all created life
Is its unition with Divinity,
In essence, yet existence separate.
High o'er my own existence, here then I
Look down upon the nature and the earth,
Yet mine, whose separate and combined ends
Have still to be evolved. How wide men miss,
While in the lower world of soul and sense,
In aiming even at life-ruling Truth —
Formless as air, simple and one as Death.
If Heaven and all its stars depend on earth,
Then may eternity on time; — not else.
But since now earth is as a crumb of Heaven,
And time an atom of eternity,
Neither depends upon the other, both
One essence being emanant from God,
Whose flowings forth are aye and infinite,
And radiant as the rivers of the skies.
One only truth hath consequence, God's truth
Inspirited in man. Mere human truth
Or falsehood matters not. The world may act,
Believe, or bless, or curse, as best it lists.
Yet men expend life, solemnizing points
Uncertain as the site of Paradise
And area of Hades. Not the less,
There is no disappointment we endure
One half so great as that we are to ourselves.
We make our hearts the centres of all hopes,
All powers, all rewards, remembering not
That centres are imaginary points.
Imaginary circles only too
Are perfect; therefore, draw life as we may,
Round as a world, or as an atom round,
And pure as virgin visionary's dream,
Or perfect faith's regenerative wave —
It fails to match the true invisible
Whereof we labor. It is come to this.
One state of life with me hath passed away.
Aught henceforth that may matter be of doubt
To me is matter of indifference. I
Love only that is certain. Me no more
The spirits of the bright invisible
Shall throng round as the winds some mountain top;
Nor watery lightfulness of ghostly eyes,
Belonging heavenly forms informed with light,
Impose their spell of record under pain.
The inspiration quits me — it is gone —
Like a retreating army from the land
Which it hath wasted — the long gleaming mass,
Snakelike, at last hath wound itself away,
And left me weak and wretched. None again
Of all the starry tribes of shining mien —
Swifter than undulations of the light,
A million in a moment, multiform
As atomies of air, shall visit me;
Their word of leave is taken back — henceforth,
Restricted to perfection, earth they quit.
True, albeit, I loved them more than life;
I felt myself made sacred by their touch: —
But they are gone, and there is nought on earth
Left acceptable. Fiery shadows, hence !
I have outbraved ye once. It matters not.
I have left all for one; Truth's countless rays
For Truth itself; the mean for the supreme,
The dubitable for the throned power.
Yet thus I cannot rest. The mightiest sphere
Is not for man. The elements of mind
And matter are proportioned in all worlds;
The father they and mother of all things.
And earth hath favor over crowds of stars.
I must reseek earth. Still what boots it now,
To plunge in pleasure or to passion bow,
The very lion-honey of the heart
Which dwelleth in corruption? Yet, perchance,
'T were wisdom to extract it while we may.
The oak, as lily, feels the lightest breeze.
The ineradicable seed is sown
Of love in life, and tide-like 't will have way
O'er the impalaced prisoner of the breast.
The thirst for power and knowledge still exist,
And meet with dizzy mixture in the brain.
If suffering could expiate offence,
They who have most enjoyed have most atoned,
It may be, humanly; — but it cannot.
Earth-like, the heart must undergo all change
Ere the superior life be formed therein,
The chastity of heart which loves but God.
Life's sensuous warmth, the spirit's holy chill,
Time's week-day work, have yet to be gone through.
The hortus siccus of a Paradise
Is all earth now can boast. To God belongs
The autumn of all nature. But, alas!
Not yet can we o'ercome our nature here,
Would we. If therefore passion strike the heart,
Let it have length of line and plenteous play.
The safety of superior principles
Lies in exhaustion of the lower ones,
However vast or violent. Men and angels
Obey the order of existence. Fate !
Who seeks thee everywhere, will find thee there.