A Pastoral of Parnassus
A sudden sense, a second sight,
Showed God, who burns in every briar.
Then sudden voices, strong and bright.
Flashed up like lire.
And turning where that music rang
I saw aloft, and far away.
The watching poets ; and they sang
Through night and day.
And very sweet—ah, sweet indeed—
Their voices sounded high and deep.
I blew an echo on my reed
As one asleep.
I heard. My heart grew cold with dread,
For what would happen if they heard?
Would not tlicsc nightingales strike dead
Their mocking-bird?
Then from the mountain's steepest crown.
Where white cliffs pierce the tender grass,
I saw an arm reach slowly down.
Heard some word pass.
"The end is conic," I thought, "and still
I am more Kappy, come what may.
To die upon Parnassus-hill
Than live away."
Then hands and laces luminous
And holy voices grew one flame—
"Come up, poor singer, and sing with us!"
They sang; I came.
So ended all my wandering;
This is the end and this is sweet—
All night, all day, to listen and sing
Below their feet.
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