Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/205

CORDA CONCORDIA High thoughts of thee brought near

Unto our minstrel-seer

The antique calm, the Asian wisdom old,

Till in his verse we heard

Of blossom, bee, and bird,

Of mountain crag and pine, the manifold

Rich song,—and on the world his eyes

Dwelt penetrant with vision sweet and wise.

Whence came the silver tongue

To one forever young

Who spoke until our hearts within us burned?

This reverend one, who took

No palimpsest or book,

But read his soul with glances inward turned,

While (her rapt forehead like the dawn)

The Sibyl listened, by that music drawn,

And from her fearless mouth,

Where never speech had drouth,

Gave voice to some old chant of womanhood,—

Her own imaginings,

Like swift, resplendent things,

Flashing from eyes that knew to beam or brood.

What sought these shining ones? What thought

From preacher-saint have poet and teacher caught?

In scorn of meaner use,

Anon, the young recluse

Builded his hut beside the woodland lake,

And set the world far off,

Though with no will to scoff,

Thus from the Earth's near breast fresh life to take.

Against her bosom, heart to heart,

All Nature's sweets he ravished for his Art.

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