I step across the mystic border-land, <br />And look upon the wonder-world of Art. <br />How beautiful, how beautiful its hills! <br />And all its valleys, how surpassing fair! <br /> <br />The winding paths that lead up to the heights <br />Are polished by the footsteps of the great. <br />The mountain-peaks stand very near to God: <br />The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon <br />Have talked with Him. and with the angels walked. <br /> <br />Here are no sounds of discord-no profane <br />Or senseless gossip of unworthy things- <br />Only the songs of chisels and of pens, <br />Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains <br />Of souls surcharged with music most divine. <br />Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief <br />For any day or object left behind- <br />For time is counted precious, and herein <br />Is such complete abandonment of Self <br />That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance <br />The beauty of the land where all is fair, <br />Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land. <br />Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here <br />Where the great artists of the world have trod- <br />The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth? <br />Only the singer of a little song; <br />Yet loving Art with such a mighty love <br />I hold it greater to have won a place <br />Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave, <br />Than in the outer world of greed and gain <br />To sit upon a royal throne and reign.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-step-across-the-mystic-border-land/
