OCR Text |
Show i!r:bt ®raclt of tbt @olbflobto By our rude sires a goddess made. Could longing, though its heart broke, give Trances in which we chiefly live? Moments that darken all beside, Tearfully radiant as a bride? Beckonings of bright escape, of wings Purchased with loss of baser things ? Blithe truancies from all control Of H yle, outings of the soul ? The worm, by trustful instinct led, Draws from its womb a slender thread, And drops, confiding that the breeze Will waft it to unpastured trees : So the brain spins itself, and so Swings boldly off in hope to blow Across some tree of knowledge, fair With fruitage new, none else shall share : Sated with wavering in the Void, It backward climbs, so best employed, II |