Nothing is, if thou art not, From thee as from a root The blossoming stars upshoot, The flower cups drink the rain. Joy and grief and weary pain Spring aloft from thee, And toss their branches free. Thou are under, over all; Thou dost hold and cover all; Thou art Atlas—thou art Jove:— The mightiest truth Hath all its youth From thy enveloping thought. Thy thought itself lay in thy earliest love. Nature keeps time to thee With voice unbroken: Still doth she rhyme to thee When thou hast spoken. When the sun shines to thee, ’Tis thy own joy, Opening mines to thee Nought can destroy. When the blast moans to thee Still doth the wind Echo the tones to thee Of thy own mind. Laughter but saddens thee When thou art sad, Life is not life to thee, But as thou livest, Labor is strife to thee When thou least strivest:— More did the spirit sing, and made the night, Most musical with inward melodies, But vanished soon, and left the listening bard Wrapt in unearthly silence—till the morn Reared up the screen that shuts the spirit world From loftiest poet and from wisest sage. OUTWORLD. The sun was shining on the busy earth. All men and things were moving on their way— The old, old way which we call life. The soul Shrank from the giant grasp of Space and Time, Yet, for it was, her dreamy hour half yielded To the omnipotent delusion—and looked out On the broad glare of things, and felt itself Dwindling before the universe: Then came unto the bard Another spirit with another voice, And sang:— Said he, that all but seems? Said he, the world is void and lonely, A strange vast crowd of dreams Coming to thee only? And that thy feeble soul Hath such a strong control O’er sovereign Space and sovereign Time And all their train sublime? Said he, thou art the eye Reflecting all that is— The ear that hears, while it creates All sounds and harmonies— The central sense that bides amid All shows and tunes and realities? Listen mortal while the sound Of this life intense is flowing! Dost thou find all things around Go as thou art going? Dost thou dream that thou art free, Making, destroying all that thou dost see In the unfettered might of thy soul’s liberty?