J.
C. Squire .
Now
do I
burn
for
nothing
more
Than
thus
to
gaze, thus
to
adore
This
exquisiteness
of nature
ever
In
silence .
.
.
.
But with
instant
light
Rends
the
film ; with
joy
I
quiver
To
see
with
new
celestial sight
Flower
and
leaf
and
grass
and
tree ,
Doomed
barks
on
an
eternal
sea ,
Flit
phantom -like
as
transient
smoke .
Beauty
herself
her
spell has
broke,
Beauty,
the
herald
and
the
lure,
Her
message
told , may not
endure ;
Her
portal
opened , she
has
died ,
Supreme
immortal
suicide.
Yes, sleepless
nature
soundless
flings
Invisible
grapples
round
the
soul,
Drawing
her through
the web
of things
To
the primal
end
of her
journeyings ,
Her
ultimate and constant pole .
For
Beauty
with
her
hands that
beckon
Is but the
Prophet
of
a Higher,
A
flaming
and
ephemeral
beacon ,
A
Phoenix
perishing
by
fire .
Herself
from
us herself
estranges ,
Herself her mighty
tale
doth
kill ,
That
all
things
change
yet
nothing
changes
,
That
all things move
yet
all
are
still
.
175