OBSCURITY AND POETRY
93
That came to Christ from beauty's natural shrineAnd, through his lips, soared sacred out and upInto the space beyond of holiness,The aether of the rapture of High God.Oh! it steals to us like the breath of dawnThat fills the pipes of Nature with sweet sounds,Steals low and swells anon into chantTo throb and triumph through the heart of SpringWith the clear canticle of Love that hailsThe orient Epiphany of Joy.And now the poet heart is calling tooAnd called aloud by every voice divineBehind our wall out through the lattices.Now is the season of the Golden Joy,Now is the season of the birth of Love—The perfect passion of the heart of God,The rapture of the beauty of the world,The rapture of eternity of bliss!For all our Winters pass and all rains go,And all the flowers of Joy appear again,And spring is green with figs more beautifulAnd sweet with odours of the mystic TreeThat droops its branches over Heaven and Earth,Scattering flowers and fruit and passionate wineDown into all the places of the sun,And into all the nether places dimFragrant with ecstasy of Joy and Peace.And who will steep his senses in the flowersAnd who will feed his spirit on the fruitAnd who will fill his veins with the great wine
