Elected Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only make you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.

Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!

Nostrils, our careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street
And you unhouse and house the Lord.

And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.

The seraph sings before the manifest 
God-one, and in the burning of the Seven, 
And with the full life of consummate Heaven 
Heaving beneath him like a mother’s breast 
Warm with her first-born’s slumber in that nest! 
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven: 
Before the naughty world soon self-forgiven 
For wronging him; and in the darkness prest 
From his own soul by worldly weights. Even so, 
Sing, seraph with the glory! Heaven is high— 
Sing, poet with the sorrow! Earth is low. 
The universe’s inward voices cry 
‘Amen’ to either song of joy and wo— 
Sing seraph, —poet, —sing on equally

I built an unnamed altar in my heart, 
And sculptured sacred garlands for a frieze 
From delicately petalled memories,— 
The fragrance of a word, the fragile art 
Of ash-gold hair, dim visioned things that start 
With radiant wings from mist of reveries, 
And vanish at the telling as a breeze
Blurs mirrored stars in dark pools set apart.

But, as I worshiped reverently there 
The symbols of the beautiful, there came 
A light aslant the shadows of my prayer 
That silenced mine uplifted lips with shame. 
The garlands coldly carven in that fair 
Unmeaning tracery enscrolled—thy name.