How often we forget all time, when lone <br /> Admiring Nature's universal throne; <br /> Her woods- her wilds- her mountains- the intense <br /> Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence! [BYRON, The Island.] <br /> <br /> I <br /> <br /> In youth have I known one with whom the Earth <br /> In secret communing held- as he with it, <br /> In daylight, and in beauty from his birth: <br /> Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit <br /> From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth <br /> A passionate light- such for his spirit was fit- <br /> And yet that spirit knew not, in the hour <br /> Of its own fervor what had o'er it power. <br /> <br /> <br /> II <br /> <br /> Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought <br /> To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er, <br /> But I will half believe that wild light fraught <br /> With more of sovereignty than ancient lore <br /> Hath ever told- or is it of a thought <br /> The unembodied essence, and no more, <br /> That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass <br /> As dew of the night-time o'er the summer grass? <br /> <br /> III <br /> <br /> Doth o'er us pass, when, as th' expanding eye <br /> To the loved object- so the tear to the lid <br /> Will start, which lately slept in apathy? <br /> And yet it need not be- (that object) hid <br /> From us in life- but common- which doth lie <br /> Each hour before us- but then only, bid <br /> With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken, <br /> To awake us- 'Tis a symbol and a token <br /> <br /> IV <br /> <br /> Of what in other worlds shall be- and given <br /> In beauty by our God, to those alone <br /> Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven <br /> Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, <br /> That high tone of the spirit which hath striven, <br /> Tho' not with Faith- with godliness- whose throne <br /> With desperate energy 't hath beaten down; <br /> Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.<br /><br />Edgar Allan Poe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stanzas/
