But hath some heinous freckle of the flesh
Upon his shining cheek, not one but winks
His ray, opaqued with intermittent mist
Of defect; yea, you masters all must ask
Some sweet forgiveness, which we leap to give,
We lovers of you, heavenly-glad to meet
Your largess so with love, and interplight
Your geniuses with our mortalities. . . .
But Thee, but Thee, O sovereign Seer of time,
But Thee, O poet s Poet, Wisdom s Tongue,
But Thee, O man s best Man, O love s best Love,
O perfect life in perfect labor writ,
O all men s Comrade, Servant, King, or Priest,
What if or _> <?/, what mole, what flaw, what lapse,
What least defect or shadow of defect,
What rumor, tattled by an enemy,
Of inference loose, what lack of grace
Even in torture s grasp, or sleep s, or death s,
Oh, what amiss may I forgive in Thee,
Jesus, good Paragon, thou Crystal Christ t
SUNRISE 1
In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. 1 First published in the Independent, December 14, 1882, from which it is here taken,
