INCENSE.
PEACEFUL and blue bends the dome of the skies,
Green are these curtains of leaves;
Soft from your censer the filmy clouds rise
Up to the Orient eaves;
Green are these curtains of leaves;
Soft from your censer the filmy clouds rise
Up to the Orient eaves;
Mystic and sweet are the odors they breathe,
Bathing my spirit in balm;
Tremulous mist from the dim, shoreless seas,
Sleeps 1n the zone of your calm.
Bathing my spirit in balm;
Tremulous mist from the dim, shoreless seas,
Sleeps 1n the zone of your calm.
Lulled by its perfume and lost in its cloud,
Vainly I grope through your voice;
Labyrinths deeper its cadences shroud,—
Give me your hand, to rejoice.
Vainly I grope through your voice;
Labyrinths deeper its cadences shroud,—
Give me your hand, to rejoice.
August 1st.
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