from Heart of Love

Death, thou art forsaken.
Rhymed in the lovely spring
our communal wandering
enchanted such as none can tell;
I dwell alone, yet not I dwell.
No altar traced beneath my feet
a flowered path, save here to greet
between the pigface and the thorn
as on that day when first was born,
affianced by thy sudden power -
how lovely is the sylvan hour!
O bliss of dewy shroud of day
so lovely in its vernal way
O metaphysic import
of my eternal consort!

As smitten as the evening skies
with rougéd cheek unwitting lies
in Shunnam, suspect of thy dart
to sing “my God, how great thou art!”
Where fronts the sun meridian,
elation as empyrean!
where used the scowling arctic blow,
the rivers stream with molten snow!
Fair fields flush with flowers rare
of Godhead's imprint everywhere,
and rapture's fancy fills the air
of my eternal consort!

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