Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/27

Rh To hear Amid May twilight, by the murmuring sea, Some blackbird warbling from a budded tree, Tender and clear:

To see Down young rose-petals how the deepening light Glides gradually, till, somewhere out of sight, What light must be!—

O Thou, intense Rapture of Beauty! All-pervading Lord! Is not this worship? So art Thou ador’d By every sense!