@2P@1ÆAN, sing paæn! For I have made me wings; No more the empyrean Withstands my journeyings;— The empyrean, Eternal, silent, vast! I enter it at last, And the god in me sings. Power, sing power! For I am greater grown; This is the mighty hour When all becomes mine own;— The mighty hour Dreamed, laboured for, fulfilled, Won as my spirit willed,— The firmament known. Yet, in the singing, Hearken a low, sweet cry: "Wouldst thou, O Man, be winging The stretches of the sky;— Wouldst thou be winging Thine ever-upward way, Did not Love smile and say: 'Thy courier I!'?" |