WHAT'S that, which, ere I spake, was gone: So joyful and intense a spark That, whilst o'erhead the wonder shone, The day, before but dull, grew dark? I do not know; but this I know, That, had the splendour lived a year, The truth that I some heavenly show Did see, could not be now more clear. This know I too: might mortal breath Express the passion then inspired, Evil would die a natural death, And nothing transient be desired; And error from the soul would pass, And leave the senses pure and strong As sunbeams. But the best, alas, Has neither memory nor tongue! |