| Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917. |
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| 352. An Insurgent of Art |
| By Fred. G. Bowles |
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| LIKE a tired lover I rest on her bosom, | |
| I, the Insurgent of Art … Thou, the Glory, | |
| Worshipped of Cherubim, leaning toward me; | |
| Now through the yellowing clouds of the rushes, | |
| Now o’er the music of waters melodic, | 5 |
| Now from the wavering blue fields of heaven, | |
| Or from the daffodil’s soundless pale trumpet, | |
| Drawing my soul with miraculous ardours! | |
| What is thy purpose? Ah! What is thy doing? | |
| White stars are water-blooms set in the ocean, | 10 |
| Young lives are petals from one burning Blossom, | |
| Fallen from altitudes starry and primal— | |
| Welcome the wind that shall blow them to shelter, | |
| Breathe on their circumstance, shape the Soul’s eddy | |
| Separately fire and transform all this wonder. | 15 |
| I, thy lost lover, long-waiting, have found Thee, | |
| I, who had seen Thy sheathed colours, descending, | |
| Melt into violets, flow into pansies, | |
| Know that the Master hath need of the artist! | |
| Out of the force of His Being, atomic, | 20 |
| Came I, and go I, ripe seed of His sowing; | |
| Reticent, mutinous, still have I found Thee, | |
| Steadfast I worship, for Thou art so near me— | |
| Set in a Soul, my one Holy of Holies! | |
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