I
Beauty, whose face and mystery we seek,
Forever longing and forever foiled,-
Whose praise the voices of our art would speak,
And in whose faith all art and love have toiled,
Be gracious, where in vain,
Here at thy noblest fane,
Where silent summits lift,
I heap thine altar-stone with humble flow’rs,
The mute bestowal of my happier hours-
The hours that held thy pain,
The heart-ache of thy presence and its stress.
Be gracious to the giver and the gift,
And be thy ruth
Some aspect of thine inner loveliness
Or instant blaze
Of sunlight on the marbles of thy truth,
Where I may stand and gaze
Ere following nigh confess
How art betrays us, even in its youth,
And of thy sudden vision and its bliss
We give but broken news and songs amiss.
***
The primal gleam
Of thy far wings on Time’s remoter skies
Drew first man’s eyes
To that high star which is the light of Dream.
Dimly he saw
Thy splendor past the range of brutish law,
And slowly found the trace
And latency of thee
In fire and morning and the lily’s cup,-
In quiet waters and the lifted sea,-
In his belov
(George Sterling)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Time Poems, Youth Poems, Dreams Poems, Fire Poems, Beauty Poems, Pain Poems, Art Poems, Truth Poems, Charity Poems, Law & Regulation PoemsBased on Keywords: altar-stone, heart-ache, bestowal