“Not a yearning but is proof
  Thou art yet its aim to own: 
Thou the warp art and the woof,
  Not the woof or warp alone. 
Couldst thou drop the lead within
  To the bottom of thyself,
All the World—­and God—­and Sin—­
  And Force—­and Ages—­were that Elf.

“With thy breathing goes all breath,
  With thy striving goes all strife,
In thy being, deep as death,
  Lies the largeness of all life. 
The world is but thy deepest wish,
  The phases thereof are thy dream;
They that hunt or plough or fish
  Are of thee the out-turned seam.

“Helpless, thou hast every power,
  In thee greatness perfect sleeps—­
And thou comest to thy dower,
  And thy strength perennial keeps. 
Stir the Aeol harp elate! 
  Make a triumph of its song,
For the Soul is ever great,
  For the Soul is ever strong!”

Rushings cool as of a breeze
  Amened to their litany;
In their pure sky smiled the trees;
  And no more was mystery. 
Clear I saw the Soul at work,
  All through fair Saint Francis vale,
Beauty-making; like a dirk
  Peering bright amid the mail.

Vital the dark River wound,
  Glassy in his cool repose;
Many a bird-like country, sound
  As the Soul-voice upward rose. 
Then as in a glass I knew
  I was vale and town and stream,
Shadowed grove and northern blue
  And the stars that ’gan to gleam.

This was I, and all was mine. 
  Mine—­yea, ours—­the grace and might,
With the lordship of a line
  That laughs at any earthly knight. 
Ah, what music then I heard! 
  What conceptions then I saw! 
Master-thoughts within me stirred,
  And there flashed the Master-law. 
Next them did the greatest shapes
  Of Angelo crowd in a dream:—­
Vain the grace that marble drapes;
  A village mason’s these did seem.

But—­the light from Angelo’s eye
  That so deeply eager burns
With its fierce sincerity!—­
  Ah, the ancient saw returns: 
“Greater artist than his art;”
  Meaning:  greater yet than he
Is the vast outfeeling Heart
  In him lying like the sea.

With a sudden eagle-stroke
  How this truth can lift one wide. 
Then he sees the sublime joke
  Of humility and pride;
For the Soul is ever great,
  The one Soul within us all: 
One the tone that shakes a state
  With the helpless cradle-call.

Yes, that wonder of the Soul
  Is the riddle of it all,
And the answer, and the whole,
  Bright with joy that rends the pall. 
Brother-man, I pray you stand,
  Hear a minstrel; but the song
If you do not understand,
  Pass and do not do it wrong.

TO CYBEL DEAR.

LOVE-SONG.

Though others plight for pride or gain,
  And mix the cup of love;
Theirs be the duller troth, the stain;
  Ours the sweet stars approve. 
My riches, love, they shall be thou;
  My pride, thy love for me: 
No diamond fairer decks a brow
  Than thine sincerity.