And having tasted it I speak of it, And praise him telling how I trembled then When his touch strengthened me, as now I sit In wonder, reaching out beyond my ken, Reaching to turn the day back, and my pen Urging to tell a tale which told would seem The witless phantasy of them that dream. But O most blessèd truth, for truth thou art, Abide thou with me till my life shall end. Divinity hath surely touched my heart; I have possessed more joy than earth can lend: I may attain what time shall never spend. Only let not my duller days destroy The memory of thy witness and my joy. O My vague desires! Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires: That are my soul herself in pangs sublime Rising and flying to heaven before her time: What doth tempt you forth To drown in the south or shiver in the frosty north? What seek ye or find ye in your random flying, Ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying? Joy, the joy of flight! They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night; Gone up, gone out of sight: and ever again Follow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain. Ah! they burn my soul, The fires, devour my soul that once was whole: She is scattered in fiery phantoms day by day, But whither, whither? ay whither? away, away! Could I but control These vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul: Could I but quench the fire: ah! could I stay My soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away! The full moon from her cloudless skies Turneth her face, I think, on me; And from the hour when she doth rise Till when she sets, none else will see. One only other ray she hath, That makes an angle close with mine, And glancing down its happy path Upon another spot doth shine. But that ray too is sent to me, For where it lights there dwells my heart: And if I were where I would be, Both rays would shine, love, where thou art. I praise the tender flower, That on a mournful day Bloomed in my garden bower And made the winter gay. Its loveliness contented My heart tormented. I praise the gentle maid Whose happy voice and smile To confidence betrayed My doleful heart awhile: And gave my spirit deploring Fresh wings for soaring. The maid for very fear Of love I durst not tell: The rose could never hear, Though I bespake her well: So in my song I bind them For all to find them. Awake my heart to be loved, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o’ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!