Shall create an instant’s shining constellation Upon the blue; and all the air shall be Full of a million wings that swift and free Laugh in the sun, all power and strong elation. Yes, I shall seek that reef, which is beyond All isles however magically sleeping In tideless seas, uncharted and unconned Save by blind eyes: beyond the laughter and weeping That brood like a cloud over the lands of men. Movement, passion of colour and pure wings, Curving to cut like knives--these are the things I search for:--passion beyond the ken Of our foiled violences, and, more swift Than any blow which man aims against time, The invulnerable, motion that shall rift All dimness with the lightning of a rhyme, Or note, or colour. And the body shall be Quick as the mind; and will shall find release From bondage to brute things; and joyously Soul, will and body, in the strength of triune peace, Shall live the perfect grace of power unwasted. And love consummate, marvellously blending Passion and reverence in a single spring Of quickening force, till now never yet tasted, But ever ceaselessly thirsted for, shall crown The new life with its ageless starry fire. I go to seek that reef, far down, far down Below the edge of everyday’s desire, Beyond the magical islands, where of old I was content, dreaming, to give the lie To misery. They were all strong and bold That thither came; and shall I dare to try? THE FLOWERS. Day after day, At spring’s return, I watch my flowers, how they burn Their lives away. The candle crocus And daffodil gold Drink fire of the sunshine-- Quickly cold. And the proud tulip-- How red he glows!-- Is quenched ere summer Can kindle the rose. Purple as the innermost Core of a sinking flame, Deep in the leaves the violets smoulder To the dust whence they came. Day after day At spring’s return, I watch my flowers, how they burn Their lives away, Day after day.... THE ELMS. Fine as the dust of plumy fountains blowing Across the lanterns of a revelling night, The tiny leaves of April’s earliest growing Powder the trees--so vaporously light, They seem to float, billows of emerald foam Blown by the South on its bright airy tide, Seeming less trees than things beatified, Come from the world of thought which was their home. For a while only. Rooted strong and fast, Soon will they lift towards the summer sky Their mountain-mass of clotted greenery. Their immaterial season quickly past, They grow opaque, and therefore needs must die, Since every earth to earth returns at last. OUT OF THE WINDOW.