A STAR COMES SINGING
Man cannot live too long on the high places;
Or the rock of which his body and soul are made
Would melt and dissolve again to lifeless rock.
So with the clearest man-crystal
The light flames, and then dims;
Love and coarse hunger resume their sway.
We pass unheeding into the hidden heart of beauty,
Beneath the silver altar of the stars,
Or in the fresh green shrine of the springtime;
We stand beside a soul at its whitest glow,
Blind and unperceiving.
Or the rock of which his body and soul are made
Would melt and dissolve again to lifeless rock.
So with the clearest man-crystal
The light flames, and then dims;
Love and coarse hunger resume their sway.
We pass unheeding into the hidden heart of beauty,
Beneath the silver altar of the stars,
Or in the fresh green shrine of the springtime;
We stand beside a soul at its whitest glow,
Blind and unperceiving.
To each man comes the vision,
And as it comes, it dulls.
But the vision has not gone.
Like moonlight pouring on tumbling waves,
Now one drop, and now another,
Glowing back the mellow splendor;
Or like a seething liquid, whose ever-shifting surface
Bursts into flame at the touch of the air,—
So comes the vision to men.
The man's glow dulls; the vision stays.
And as it comes, it dulls.
But the vision has not gone.
Like moonlight pouring on tumbling waves,
Now one drop, and now another,
Glowing back the mellow splendor;
Or like a seething liquid, whose ever-shifting surface
Bursts into flame at the touch of the air,—
So comes the vision to men.
The man's glow dulls; the vision stays.
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