Though cribbed and gyved, thou canst within thy
Unfold a wondrous wealth of worlds unseen,
And flood the soul’s abyss with moon-light sheen,
As well as darken passions’ gilded halls ;
Thy fourteen outlets are so many falls
From which gush out the prisoned joy, or
The silvery cascades, or the billows green,
And either a sea of bliss or grief recalls.
Thou goddess of the gems of Fancy’s deep,
Though few thy facets, they reflect the whole
Of inner-self in multi-shaded hues ;
Thou art the couch of dreams that never sleep ;
Thou art the phoenix of the poet’s soul,
As well the crystal palace of his muse.
I walked along the countryside
The road was fair
With moons of water here and there,
Into whose heart the grasses spied.
And suddenly upon them shone
The light of the City’s eye,
Reflected from a bulb on high.
Which made them and their shadow one,
Nay, made each moon
A mirror seem
To serve the dream
Of tender blades in bending grace a-swoon.
I walked into the night,
And every abode
Beyond the dark, deserted road
Was a prattle of light.
And I thought of the Eye Unseen
Which sheds its charitable sheen,
Not on our goal,
But on the by-ways of the Soul.