Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/98

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Fall on me like the silent flakes of snowOn the hoar brows of aged Caucasus:But, O thought far more blissful, they can rendThis cloud of flesh, and make my soul a star!
Unleash thy crouching thunders now, O Jove!Free this high heart, which, a poor captive long,Doth knock to be let forth, this heart which still,In its invincible manhood, overtopsThy puny godship, as this mountain dothThe pines that moss its root. O, even now,While from my peak of suffering I look down,Beholding with a far-spread gush of hopeThe sunrise of that Beauty, in whose face,Shone all around with love, no man shall lookBut straightway like a god he is upliftUnto the throne long empty for his sake,And clearly oft foreshadowed in wide dreamsBy his free inward nature, which nor thou,Nor any anarch after thee, can bindFrom working its great doom,—now, now set freeThis essence, not to die, but to become
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