Good only for its beauty, seeing not That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters To which my soul made answer readily: That doat upon each other, friends to man, lie Howling in outer darkness. Not for this courts I made, East, West and South and North, In each a squared lawn, wherefrom Was common clay ta'en from the common The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth earth, Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears Of angels to the perfect shape of man. THE PALACE OF ART. I BUILT my soul a lordly pleasurehouse, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. I said, 'O Soul, make merry and carouse, A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf The rock rose clear, or winding stair. My soul would live alone unto herself In her high palace there. A flood of fountain-foam. And round the cool green courts there ran a row Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow And round the roofs a gilded gallery That lent broad verge to distant lands, Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Dipt down to sea and sands. From those four jets four currents in one swell Across the mountain stream❜d below In misty folds, that floating as they fell Lit up a torrent-bow. And high on every peak a statue seem'd And while the world runs round and So that she thought, And who shall gaze But over these she trod : and those great Making sweet close of his delicious toils bells Began to chime. She took her throne: She sat betwixt the shining Oriels, To sing her songs alone. And thro' the topmost Oriels' coloured flame Two godlike faces gazed below; Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam, The first of those who know. Lit light in wreaths and anadeins, And pure quintessences of precious oils In hollow'd moons of gems, To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried, 'I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, Be flatter'd to the height. And all those names, that in their motionO all things fair to sate my various were Full-welling fountain-heads of change, eyes! O shapes and hues that please me well! Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd O silent faces of the Great and Wise, fair In diverse raiment strange : Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue, Flush'd in her temples and her eyes, And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rers of melodies. No nightingale delighteth to prolong Her low preamble all alone, More than my soul to hear her echo'd song Throb thro' the ribbed stone; Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth, Joying to feel herself alive, Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible earth, Lord of the senses five; Communing with herself: All these are mine, And let the world have peace or wars, 'Tis one to me.' She-when young night divine Crown'd dying day with stars, My Gods, with whom I dwell! |