O that the pines which crown yon steep Their fires might ne'er surrender! O that yon fervid knoll might keep, While lasts the world, its splendor! Pale poplars on the breeze that lean, And in the sunset shiver, O that your golden stems might screen For aye yon glassy river! That yon white bird on homeward wing Soft-sliding without motion, And now in blue air vanishing Like snow-flake lost in ocean, Beyond our sight might never flee, Yet forward still be flying; And all the dying day might be Immortal in its dying! Pellucid thus in saintly trance, Thus mute in expectation, What waits the earth? Deliverance? Ah no! Transfiguration! She dreams of that 'New Earth' divine, Conceived of seed immortal; She sings 'Not mine the holier shrine, Yet mine the steps and portal!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MERCY OF LAZARUS by STEPHEN DOBYNS DREAM-PEDLARY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE POET AND HIS BOOK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY WHEN THE COWS COME HOME by AGNES E. MITCHELL CURE FOR AFFLICTIONS by ARCHILOCHUS |