Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/211

 With what worship, by what blessing, in what measure, May we sing of him, salute him, or adore, With what hymn for praise, what thanksgiving for pleasure, Who had given us more than heaven, and gives us more? Heaven’s whole treasury, filled up full with night’s whole treasure, Holds not so divine or deep a starry store As the soul supreme that deals forth worlds at leisure Clothed with light and darkness, dense with flower and ore.

Song had touched the bourn: fresh verses overflow it, Loud and radiant, waves on waves on waves that throng; Still the tide grows, and the sea-mark still below it Sinks and shifts and rises, changed and swept along. Rose it like a rock? the waters overthrow it, And another stands beyond them sheer and strong: Goal by goal pays down its prize, and yields its poet Tribute claimed of triumph, palm achieved of song.

Since his hand that holds the keys of fear and wonder Opened on the high priest’s dreaming eyes a door