26
The Sculptor's Reverie.
Is the opening of that chamber,
Whence deep mysteries of thought
Stand embodied, moving, living—
Still companions, though unsought?
Whence deep mysteries of thought
Stand embodied, moving, living—
Still companions, though unsought?
Then soft clouds came floating o'er me,
Took the forms of answered prayer,
And the mist that rolled before me,
Swept my sorrows into air.
Took the forms of answered prayer,
And the mist that rolled before me,
Swept my sorrows into air.
For sweet groups of angel faces,
Pitying faces bent to see,—
These were holy aspirations,
That had ne'er forsaken me.
Pitying faces bent to see,—
These were holy aspirations,
That had ne'er forsaken me.
Did I say that I was dreaming?
Did I say this all before?
That I entered guest unbidden
Through my own soul's open door?
Did I say this all before?
That I entered guest unbidden
Through my own soul's open door?
There to see these living sculptures,
Every thought embodied there,
Ne'er to perish, good and evil,
Beautiful, and false, and fair.
Every thought embodied there,
Ne'er to perish, good and evil,
Beautiful, and false, and fair.
