I
In youth I have known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing heldвБ†вАФas he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit
From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth
A passionate light such for his spirit was fitвБ†вАФ
And yet that spirit knewвБ†вАФnot in the hour
Of its own fervorвБ†вАФwhat had oвАЩer it power.
II
Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs oвАЩer,
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever toldвБ†вАФor is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth oвАЩer us pass
As dew of the night-time, oвАЩer the summer grass?
III
Doth oвАЩer us pass, when, as thвАЩ expanding eye
To the loved objectвБ†вАФso the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not beвБ†вАФ(that object) hid
From us in lifeвБ†вАФbut commonвБ†вАФwhich doth lie
Each hour before usвБ†вАФbut then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken
TвАЩ awake usвБ†вАФвАЩTis a symbol and a tokenвБ†вАФ
IV
Of what in other worlds shall beвБ†вАФand given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heartвАЩs passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with FaithвБ†вАФwith godlinessвБ†вАФwhose throne
With desperate energy вАЩt hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.