Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/47

 —And is not the great language mute The stars' deep looks are wont to melt Upon my soul, the very suit Of this unearthly wooer—felt So clearly pleading—I have knelt Full oft, most dreading to pollute The holy rapture with a sigh? And doth not every accent nigh Consume each Past to a thin shred; While endless visions glorify My sight, and haloes touch my head?

Yea, mystic consummation! yea, O Wondrous suitor,—whosoe'er Thou art; that in such mighty way, In distant realms, athwart the air And lands and seas, with all things fair, Hast wooed me even till this day;— It seems thou drawest near to me; Or I, indeed, so nigh to thee, I catch rare breaths of a delight From thy most glorious country, see Its distant glow upon some height.