Rodin in Rime

FAUNESSE HE veil o th’ mist of the quiet wood is lifted to the seers £aZe; | He burns athwart the murky maze beyond into beatitude. A solemn rapture holds the faun: an holy joy sucks up the seer _ Within its rose-revolving sphere, the orient oval of the dawn. Light’s graven old cartouche is sealed upon the forest: ‘groves are gray With filtered glamours of the day, the steely ray flung off his shield. She kneels, yon spirit of the earth; she kneels and looks toward the east. In her gray eyes awakes the beast from slumber into druid mirth. She is amazed, she eager, she, exotic orchid of the glade! She waits the ripe, exultant blade, life tempered by eternity. 40