SPIRIT of Beauty! thou whose glance Doth fill the universe with light Which is the shadow of thy might, Whose fair, immortal countenance Transcends all human sight! O where, Within what calm and blessed sphere Of earth, or air, or heaven, doth dwell The glory of thy presence? Now All things repose beneath thy spell. Bright essence, pure, invisible, Blest spirit! where art thou? Beyond stern Boreas' crystal throne Dost hold thy court with meteors dancing, And phantom gleams mid shadows wan, Like thought from earth to heaven glancing? Art sphered in light within the glorious Sun When upward on his burning course he hies, Or in the golden west when day is done, Weaving his gorgeous robe of thousand dyes? Hast thou thy home far in yon silvery star, Aye twinkling silently, As fondly struggling to reveal The secret of its mystery; Whose radiance floating from afar, Like music o'er the heart doth steal, Making the listening soul to be Part of its own deep melody? Dost dwell in the trembling moonbeam's smile, When, wakened by the midnight spell, Light fairies trip through each silent dell, Their dewy ringlets dancing, while Beneath the shadowy mountain's base The vales lie steeped in loveliness, And the breathing lawns afar do seem The soft creation of a dream? Thy spell is abroad on the Ocean's breast When the Sun awakes from his dreamless rest, And the crimsoned waves leap exultingly Beneath the glance of his golden eye. Thou reignest in the glowing haze Of noontide, like a presence brooding Above the fields in radiance dressed, When amber gleams the woods are flooding, And insects sport mid the quivering rays; And the flowers their trembling zones unbind To the soft caress of the wooing wind. Thou com'st on airy footsteps, blest With a spirit-power in the twilight hour, When the dreaming lake lies hushed below, And the heavens above with looks of love Keep watch as the shadows come and go. All hours, all worlds, thy spell obey; Yet not alone within the circling pale Of universal Nature's wide domain Extends thy sovereign reign; The Soul hath beauty of her own Which oft doth penetrate the mortal veil That shrouds the spirit's viewless throne, Winning to something of celestial ray The charms that blossom only to decay. It lives in all the nameless grace Of wreathed line and shifting hue, (That speak the pent soul shining through,) It sleeps in the unruffled face Of holy, smiling infancy, Wherein, as in a lake of blue, Lies mirrored heaven's own purity.