alive, And gathering virtue in at every pore Till it possessed me wholly, aud thought ceased, Or was transfused in something to which thought Is coarse and dull of sense. Myself was lost, Gone from me like an ache, and what remained Became a part of the universal joy. My soul went forth, and, mingling with the tree, Danced in the leaves; or, floating in the cloud, Saw its white double in the stream below; Or else, sublimed to purer ecstasy, I was the wind that dappled the lush grass, The tide that crept with coolness to its roots, The thin-winged swallow skating on the air; The life that gladdened everything was mine. Was I then truly all that I beheld? To such divinity that soul and sense, Once more commingled in their source, are lost, Canst thou descend to quench a vulgar thirst With the mere dregs and rinsings of the world? Well, if my nature find her pleasure so, A leafless wilding shivering by the wall; Of savor whose mere harshness seemed divine. |