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12 Sweet, we are thine, thy vision is not far,

But close the temple stair

And marble altars; faint not by the way

And fall not, for the fair

Queen shineth like a star

At close of day.

Press on yet faster, lest there be delay.

The maidens are not silent: what a strain

Of love and sweet desire floats along

Their clear sweet voicéd chorus: is there any song

Like to their music, pleasure and sweet pain

Are met together, mingled in a chain,

There is no failing; e'en the weak are strong.

The sweet soft scent of roses fills the air

With silent music, even as a dream

The lilies languish and the censers steam,

Sweet sounds and scents are mingled everywhere;

Far in the clear blue distance climbs the mountain stair.

Thus with their offering of solemn song

The glad procession sweeps along the road,

With dances and with music, till afar

They see the temple: with renewed acclaim

The waves of song burst forth as each one sees

The goal of his desire.

Clear in the summer air it stands and shines

Like music carved in marble, and a song.

What can we say or sing

Of such a moment, for the swelling chords

Are broken of the old resounding harp;

Let there be silence and a solemn awe.