Only those whom the glacier-spears Pierce as they walk, On the scoriac heights where the ultimate Fears Nakedly stalk, Can taste the quivering cup of the dawn Where the cowslips grow And the starlings flying over the lawn Their shadows throw. These find in that enchanted hour The lilac-tinted cuckoo-flower. These know in that anointed shrine The rain-washed blue-bell's scent divine. Only those who have harrowed Hell Can read the runes of a sea-tossed shell. Only those who have challenged God Can hear the worms whisper beneath the sod. |