Page:Poems, now first collected, Stedman, 1897.djvu/81

FIN DE SIÈCLE Life, when the harper tunes his shrillest string,

As to low thunder lends a finer ear

Unseen. Niagara's slow vibrating

Is but the treble of the greater sphere,

Whose lightest orchestras such movements play

As mock the forest's moan, the bass profound

Of surges that against deep barriers stay

Their might, in throes which shake the ancient ground.

Will, consciousness, the tenant lord of all,

Self-tenanted, is still the wrinkled wave

Which climbs a wave upon the clambering wall

Beyond, or in the hollow seeks a grave.

We time the ray, we pulsate with the fling

Of ether—feel the sure magnetic thrill

Make answer to each sombre vortex ring

Whirled with the whirling sun that binds us still;

That binds us, bound itself from girth to pole

By some unconquerable deathless force 61