Heart, the queen, with secret hoping, Sendeth out her waiting pair;
Hands, blind hands, half blindly groping, Half inclasping visions rare;
And the great arms, heartways bending; Might of Beauty, drawing home;
There returning, and re-blending, Where from roots of lore they roam.
Build thy slopes of radiance beamy,
Spirit, fair with womanhood ! Tower thy precipice, white-gleamy,
Climb unto the hour of good. Dumb space will be rent asunder,
Now the shining column stands Beady to be crowned with wonder
By the builder's joyous hands.
All the lines abroad are spreading,
Like a fountain's failing race. Lo, the chin, first feature, treading,
Airy foot to rest the face! Speech is nigh; oh, see the blushing
Sweet approach of lip and breath! Bound the mouth dim silence, hushing,
Waits to die ecstatic death.
Span across in treble curving,
Bow of promise, upper lip! Set them free, with gracious swerving;
Let the wing-words float and dip. Dumb art thou ? O Love immortal,
More than words thy speech must be ; Childless yet the tender portal
Of the home of melody.