Page:The college beautiful, and other poems.djvu/78

66 F all the angels whose melodious breath The Sapphire Throne with praise encompasseth, Amid that rainbow-plumed, ecstatic choir Most beautiful art thou, benignant Death. For we who dwell beneath this cloudy tent Some changing years, are all too early spent By covert griefs that fret the heart like fire, Our staffs soon broken and our sandals rent. Though sweet the grace of moon-enchanted night And day serene in amethystine light, Matched with the joys of sense, our souls rise higher, And human tears may shut the stars from sight. But, awful Friend, the touch of thy chill palm Falls on the fevered heart like healing balm, Till fitful bliss, keen pain and wild desire Lie hushed together in most holy calm.