Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/31

 Such sons are hers, such radiant hands Have borne abroad her lamp of old, Such mouths of honey-dropping gold Have sent across all seas and lands Her fame as music rolled.

As music made of rolling thunder That hurls through heaven its heart sublime, Its heart of joy, in charging chime, So ring the songs that round and under Her temple surge and climb.

A temple not by men's hands builded, But moulded of the spirit, and wrought Of passion and imperious thought; With light beyond all sunlight gilded, Whereby the sun seems nought.