Beauty of a richer vein,
Graces of a subtler strain,
Unto men these moonmen lend,
And our shrinking sky extend. 
So is man’s narrow path
By strength and terror skirted;
Also (from the song the wrath
Of the Genii be averted! 
The Muse the truth uncolored speaking)
The Daemons are self-seeking: 
Their fierce and limitary will
Draws men to their likeness still. 
The erring painter made Love blind,—­
Highest Love who shines on all;
Him, radiant, sharpest-sighted god,
None can bewilder;
Whose eyes pierce
The universe,
Path-finder, road-builder,
Mediator, royal giver;
Rightly seeing, rightly seen,
Of joyful and transparent mien. 
’T is a sparkle passing
From each to each, from thee to me,
To and fro perpetually;
Sharing all, daring all,
Levelling, displacing
Each obstruction, it unites
Equals remote, and seeming opposites. 
And ever and forever Love
Delights to build a road: 
Unheeded Danger near him strides,
Love laughs, and on a lion rides. 
But Cupid wears another face,
Born into Daemons less divine: 
His roses bleach apace,
His nectar smacks of wine. 
The Daemon ever builds a wall,
Himself encloses and includes,
Solitude in solitudes: 
In like sort his love doth fall. 
He doth elect
The beautiful and fortunate,
And the sons of intellect,
And the souls of ample fate,
Who the Future’s gates unbar,—­
Minions of the Morning Star. 
In his prowess he exults,
And the multitude insults. 
His impatient looks devour
Oft the humble and the poor;
And, seeing his eye glare,
They drop their few pale flowers,
Gathered with hope to please,
Along the mountain towers,—­
Lose courage, and despair. 
He will never be gainsaid,—­
Pitiless, will not be stayed;
His hot tyranny
Burns up every other tie. 
Therefore comes an hour from Jove
Which his ruthless will defies,
And the dogs of Fate unties. 
Shiver the palaces of glass;
Shrivel the rainbow-colored walls,
Where in bright Art each god and sibyl dwelt
Secure as in the zodiac’s belt;
And the galleries and halls,
Wherein every siren sung,
Like a meteor pass. 
For this fortune wanted root
In the core of God’s abysm,—­
Was a weed of self and schism;
And ever the Daemonic Love
Is the ancestor of wars
And the parent of remorse.

III.  THE CELESTIAL LOVE

But God said,
’I will have a purer gift;
There is smoke in the flame;
New flowerets bring, new prayers uplift,
And love without a name. 
Fond children, ye desire
To please each other well;
Another round, a higher,
Ye shall climb on the heavenly stair,
And selfish preference forbear;
And in right deserving,
And without a swerving
Each from your proper state,
Weave roses for your mate.