O that the pines which crown yon steep <br />Their fires might ne'er surrender! <br />O that yon fervid knoll might keep, <br />While lasts the world, its splendor! <br /> <br />Pale poplars on the breeze that lean, <br />And in the sunset shiver, <br />O that your golden stems might screen <br />For aye yon glassy river! <br /> <br />That yon white bird on homeward wing <br />Soft-sliding without motion, <br />And now in blue air vanishing <br />Like snow-flake lost in ocean, <br /> <br />Beyond our sight might never flee, <br />Yet forward still be flying; <br />And all the dying day might be <br />Immortal in its dying! <br /> <br />Pellucid thus in saintly trance, <br />Thus mute in expectation, <br />What waits the earth? Deliverance? <br />Ah no! Transfiguration! <br /> <br />She dreams of that 'New Earth' divine, <br />Conceived of seed immortal; <br />She sings 'Not mine the holier shrine, <br />Yet mine the steps and portal!'<br /><br />Aubrey Thomas de Vere<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-melody-3/
