TO taste <br /> Wild wine of the mountain-spring, fresh, living, strong, <br /> Running and rushing like a triumph-song <br /> Round hearts new-braced: <br /> <br />To smell <br /> A growing cowslip, some glad morn of Spring, <br /> And breathe the breath of every fragrant thing <br /> From every bell: <br /> <br />To touch <br /> A sliding wavelet, supple, smooth and thin,— <br /> Just ere the pois’d and perfect crests begin <br /> To bend too much: <br /> <br />To hear <br /> Amid May twilight, by the murmuring sea, <br /> Some blackbird warbling from a budded tree, <br /> Tender and clear: <br /> <br />To see <br /> Down young rose-petals how the deepening light <br /> Glides gradually, till, somewhere out of sight, <br /> What light must be!— <br /> <br />O Thou, intense <br /> Rapture of Beauty! All-pervading Lord! <br /> Is not this worship? So art Thou ador’d <br /> By every sense<br /><br />Blanche Edith Baughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/five-prayers/
