I know not if I shape These things with accurate similitude From visible objects, for but dimly now, Less vivid than a half-forgotten dream, The memory of that mental excellence Comes o’er me, and it may be I entwine The indecision of my present mind With its past clearness, yet it seems to me As even then the torrent of quick thought Absorbed me from the nature of itself With its own fleetness. Where is he that borne Adown the sloping of an arrowy stream, Could link his shallop to the fleeting edge, And muse midway with philosophic calm Upon the wondrous laws which regulate The fierceness of the bounding element? My thoughts which long had grovell’d in the slime Of this dull world, like dusky worms which house Beneath unshaken waters, but at once Upon some earth-awakening day of spring Do pass from gloom to glory, and aloft Winnow the purple, bearing on both sides Double display of starlit wings which burn Fanlike and fibred, with intensest bloom: E’en so my thoughts, ere while so low, now felt Unutterable buoyancy and strength To bear them upward through the trackless fields Of undefin’d existence far and free. Then first within the South methought I saw A wilderness of spires, and chrystal pile Of rampart upon rampart, dome on dome, Illimitable range of battlement On battlement, and the Imperial height Of Canopy o’ercanopied. Behind, In diamond light, upsprung the dazzling Cones Of Pyramids, as far surpassing Earth’s As Heaven than Earth is fairer. Each aloft Upon his narrow’d Eminence bore globes Of wheeling suns, or stars, or semblances Of either, showering circular abyss Of radiance. But the glory of the place Stood out a pillar’d front of burnish’d gold Interminably high, if gold it were Or metal more ethereal, and beneath Two doors of blinding brilliance, where no gaze Might rest, stood open, and the eye could scan Through length of porch and lake and boundless hall, Part of a throne of fiery flame, where from The snowy skirting of a garment hung, And glimpse of multitudes of multitudes That minister’d around it—if I saw These things distinctly, for my human brain Stagger’d beneath the vision, and thick night Came down upon my eyelids, and I fell. With ministering hand he rais’d me up; Then with a mournful and ineffable smile, Which but to look on for a moment fill’d My eyes with irresistible sweet tears, In accents of majestic melody, Like a swol’n river’s gushings in still night Mingled with floating music, thus he spake: