Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/53

 As high the chant of Paradise and Hell Rose, when the soul of Milton gave it wings; As wide the sweep of Shakespeare empire fell, When life had bared for him her secret springs; But not his various soul might range and dwell Amid the mysteries of the founts of things; Nor Milton's range of rule so far might swell Across the kingdoms of forgotten kings. Men, centuries, nations, time, Life, death, love, trust, and crime, Rang record through the change of smitten strings That felt an exile's hand Sound hope for every land More loud than storm's cloud-sundering trumpet rings, And bid strong death for judgment rise, And life bow down for judgment of his awless eyes.