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the bridge of the dragon.
Restore to many a heart its lost ideal,
And help me for some moments to forget,
Borne on the cooling stillness of the dream,—
How the loud multitude without blaspheme!
And help me for some moments to forget,
Borne on the cooling stillness of the dream,—
How the loud multitude without blaspheme!
Might it have been at such an hour as this,
An autumn eventide, that Margaret said:
"God binds his ancient world to perfectness,
Veined is every wind-flower with faint red,
Five petals must the wild-brier have, no less;
And in the cavern's black and silent shade;
The hoar rocks flower, like lilies in bright air,
The secret'st thoughts of God are all so fair!
An autumn eventide, that Margaret said:
"God binds his ancient world to perfectness,
Veined is every wind-flower with faint red,
Five petals must the wild-brier have, no less;
And in the cavern's black and silent shade;
The hoar rocks flower, like lilies in bright air,
The secret'st thoughts of God are all so fair!
Through arching boughs, o'er which the clematis
Tosses its misty curls, and woodbines run,
A wandering flame, and grapes swing, not the less
For ivy near, glooms goldenly the sun,
Ag through an old church-window;—if I miss
The pictured saints, the sounds immortal, won
Tosses its misty curls, and woodbines run,
A wandering flame, and grapes swing, not the less
For ivy near, glooms goldenly the sun,
Ag through an old church-window;—if I miss
The pictured saints, the sounds immortal, won
