THOU inmost, ultimate Council of judgment, palace of decrees, Where the high senses hold their spiritual state, Sued by earth's embassies, And sign, approve, accept, conceive, create; Create -- thy senses close With the world's pleas. The random odours reach Their sweetness in the place of thy repose, Upon thy tongue the peach, And in thy nostrils breathes the breathing rose. To thee, secluded one, The dark vibrations of the sightless skies, The lovely inexplicit colours run; The light gropes for those eyes. O thou august! thou dost command the sun. Music, all dumb, hath trod Into thine ear her one effectual way; And fire and cold approach to gain thy nod, Where thou call'st up the day, Where thou awaitest the appeal of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HAWORTH CHURCHYARD by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS by WILLIAM MOTHERWELL DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO by CLINTON SCOLLARD THE BEGGAR MAID [AND KING COPHETUA] by ALFRED TENNYSON DOROTHY IN THE GARRET by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE MAKE FRIENDS by ALI IBN ABU TALIB MY ANGUISH by INNOKENTI FYODOROVICH ANNENSKY THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. THE GASTRIC MUSE by JOHN ARMSTRONG |