But us the sun, not wholly risen Nor equal now for all, illumes With more of light than cloud that looms; Of light that leads forth souls from prison And breaks the seals of tombs. XXV Did not her breasts who reared us rear Him who took heaven in hand, and weighed Bright world with world in balance laid? What Newton's might could make not clear Hath Darwin's might not made? XXVI The forces of the dark dissolve, The doorways of the dark are broken: The word that casts out night is spoken, And whence the springs of things evolve Light born of night bears token. XXVII She, loving light for light's sake only, And truth for only truth's, and song For song's sake and the sea's, how long Hath she not borne the world her lonely Witness of right and wrong? XXVIII From light to light her eyes imperial Turn, and require the further light, More perfect than the sun's in sight, Till star and sun seem all funereal Lamps of the vaulted night. XXIX She gazes till the strenuous soul Within the rapture of her eyes Creates or bids awake, arise, The light she looks for, pure and whole And worshipped of the wise. XXX Such sons are hers, such radiant hands Have borne abroad her lamp of old, Such mouths of honey-dropping gold Have sent across all seas and lands Her fame as music rolled. XXXI As music made of rolling thunder That hurls through heaven its heart sublime, Its heart of joy, in charging chime, So ring the songs that round and under Her temple surge and climb. XXXII A temple not by men's hands builded, But moulded of the spirit, and wrought Of passion and imperious thought; With light beyond all sunlight gilded, Whereby the sun seems nought. XXXIII Thy shrine, our mother, seen for fairer Than even thy natural face, made fair With kisses of thine April air Even now, when spring thy banner-bearer Took up thy sign to bear; XXXIV Thine annual sign from heaven's own arch Given of the sun's hand into thine, To rear and cheer each wildwood shrine But now laid waste by wild-winged March, March, mad with wind like wine. XXXV From all thy brightening downs whereon The windy seaward whin-flower shows Blossom whose pride strikes pale the rose Forth is the golden watchword gone Whereat the world's face glows. XXXVI Thy quickening woods rejoice and ring Till earth seems glorious as the sea: With yearning love too glad for glee The world's heart quivers toward the spring As all our hearts toward thee. XXXVII