Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/25

 Rapturously the curves and colour o’er, Spell out the jewel hieroglyphs...., but read? Ah, there’s my impotence, yet there’s my need! O, it swims in my eyes, forth from my breast it breaks, My straining, stretch’d soul aches, And but one thought redeems me from despair, Nay, ravishes me!—I know the meaning’s there!

O Master-Artist! when Wilt Thou enlarge Thy poor man-creature’s ken? When wilt Thou judge him worthy, ripe to teach, And useful to be taught, The truth of Thine emblazon’d Nature-speech, And through Thy Painting to perceive Thy Thought? Ah, not more light—abundant here Thy light!— But, I beseech Thee, Lord, more sight, more sight!