Even like that hollow-bosomed rose, inverse
And infinite, the heaven of thy vast verse,
Our Master, over all our souls impends,
Imminent; we, with heart-enkindled eyes
Upwondering, search the music-moulded skies
Sphere by sweet sphere, concordant as it blends
Light of bright sound, sound of clear light, in one,
As all the stars found utterance through the sun. 
And all that heaven is like a rose in bloom,
Flower-coloured, where its own sun’s fires illume
As from one central and imperious heart
The whole sky’s every part: 
But lightening still and darkling downward, lo
The light and darkness of it,
The leaping of the lamping levin afar
Between the full moon and the sunset star,
The war-song of the sounding skies aglow,
That have the herald thunder for their prophet: 
From north to south the lyric lights that leap,
The tragic sundawns reddening east and west
As with bright blood from one Promethean breast,
The peace of noon that strikes the sea to sleep,
The wail over the world of all that weep,
The peace of night when death brings life on rest.

Goddess who gatherest all the herded waves
Into thy great sweet pastureless green fold,
Even for our love of old,
I pray thee by thy power that slays and saves,
Take thou my song of this thy flower to keep
Who hast my heart in hold;
And from thine high place of thy garden-steep,
Where one sheer terrace oversees thy deep
From the utmost rock-reared height
Down even to thy dear depths of night and light,
Take my song’s salutation; and on me
Breathe back the benediction of thy sea.

Between two seas the sea-bird’s wing makes halt,
  Wind-weary; while with lifting head he waits
  For breath to reinspire him from the gates
That open still toward sunrise on the vault
High-domed of morning, and in flight’s default
  With spreading sense of spirit anticipates
  What new sea now may lure beyond the straits
His wings exulting that her winds exalt
And fill them full as sails to seaward spread,
  Fulfilled with fair speed’s promise.  Pass, my song,
Forth to the haven of thy desire and dread,
  The presence of our lord, long loved and long
Far off above beholden, who to thee
Was as light kindling all a windy sea.

BIRTHDAY ODE

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY FESTIVAL OF VICTOR HUGO,
FEBRUARY 26, 1880

  Spring, born in heaven ere many a springtime flown, [Strophe 1. 
  Dead spring that sawest on earth
  A babe of deathless birth,
  A flower of rosier flowerage than thine own,
  A glory of goodlier godhead; even this day,
  That floods the mist of February with May,
  And strikes death dead with sunlight, and the breath
  Whereby the deadly doers are done to death,
  They that in day’s despite