Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 95.djvu/234

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“In the Heights”
All the heart feels; of sorrow and joy the whole; That which but seems is truth.
This mortal frame, that harbors the immortal, Mechanic though it be,—in our life’s firesTurns spiritual; it becomes the portal Wherethrough the soul aspires.
The soul’s existence in this human sheath Is life no more than is the spirit’s lifeIn this wide nature whose keen air we breathe; Whose strife arms us to strife.
And they are wise who seek not to destroy The unreasoned happiness of the outpoured year.To him, the lost! this vale brought no false joy, And therefore is most dear.
Wherever in the majesty of space, Near or afar,—but not from God afar,—Where’er his spirit soars, whatever grace Is his, whatever star,—
The aspirations and imaginings That in these glorious paths his soul sublimed,—They are a part of him; they are the wings Whereby he strove and climbed.
Nature to man not alien doth endure; His spirit with her spirit is transfused;On this high mystery dream the humble-pure, The mightiest poets mused.
The white clouds billow down the blowing sky, Then, O my heart, be lifted up, rejoice!The trumpet of the winds, to that wild voice Let all my soul reply!
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