| |
| SNOWY-SMOOTH beneath the pen— | |
| Richest field that iron ploughs, | |
| Germinating thoughts of men, | |
| Tho’ no heaven its rain allows. | |
| |
| There they ripen, thousand-fold; | 5 |
| And our spirits reap the corn, | |
| In a day-long dream of gold— | |
| Food for all the souls unborn. | |
| |
| Like the murmur of the earth, | |
| When we listen stooping low, | 10 |
| Like sap singing nature’s mirth | |
| Foaming up the trees that grow. | |
| |
| Evermore a subtle song | |
| Sings the pen unto it, while | |
| Fluid idea flows along, | 15 |
| Each new Era’s mother-Nile. | |
| |
| Greater than ensphering Sea, | |
| For it holds the sea and land; | |
| Seed of every deed to be | |
| Down its current borne like sand. | 20 |
| |
| I caress thy surface sheer, | |
| Holding thee the Absolute; | |
| Where the things to be inhere, | |
| Waiting their material bruit. | |
| |
| How I love thee! my heart’s blood | 25 |
| Were too dull to smutch thy white! | |
| I’ll aver: no lily’s bud | |
| Lays such unction on my sight. | |
| |
| Suave of maiden’s throat or arm, | |
| Bliss embodied to the touch, | 30 |
| Has not such ambrosial charm— | |
| Not a marble Goddess such! | |
| |
| Dear White Paper! All To-day | |
| Palpitates with spirit-heat— | |
| Only on thy whiteness may | 35 |
| Seers translate its rhythms sweet! | |
| |
| Holy Paper! all the Past | |
| Were a rack of ruined cloud | |
| Stripping from our orbit vast, | |
| But thou Eternity endowed | 40 |
| |
| With an actual soul of speech— | |
| Life of life by death distilled— | |
| That all dateless days shall reach, | |
| As life’s vine of veins is filled. | |
| |
| O, the glorious Heavens wrought | 45 |
| By Cadmean souls of yore | |
| From pure element of Thought! | |
| And thy leaves their silvern door! | |
| |
| Light they open, and we stand | |
| Past the sovereignty of Fate; | 50 |
| Glad among Them, still and grand, | |
| The Creators and Create! | |
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