Here, Milton's eyes strike piercing-dim: The shapes of suns and stars did swim Like clouds from them, and granted him God for sole vision. Cowley, there, Whose active fancy debonair Drew straws like amber--foul to fair. Drayton and Browne, with smiles they drew From outward nature, still kept new From their own inward nature true. And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men. And Burns, with pungent passionings Set in his eyes: deep lyric springs Are of the fire-mount's issuings. And Shelley, in his white ideal, All statue-blind. And Keats the real Adonis with the hymeneal Fresh vernal buds half sunk between His youthful curls, kissed straight and sheen In his Rome-grave, by Venus queen. And poor, proud Byron, sad as grave And salt as life; forlornly brave, And quivering with the dart he drave. And visionary Coleridge, who Did sweep his thoughts as angels do Their wings with cadence up the Blue. These poets faced (and many more) The lighted altar looming o'er The clouds of incense dim and hoar: And all their faces, in the lull Of natural things, looked wonderful With life and death and deathless rule. All, still as stone and yet intense; As if by spirit's vehemence That stone were carved and not by sense. But where the heart of each should beat, There seemed a wound instead of it, From whence the blood dropped to their feet Drop after drop--dropped heavily As century follows century Into the deep eternity. Then said the lady--and her word Came distant, as wide waves were stirred Between her and the ear that heard,-- "_World's use_ is cold, _world's love_ is vain, _World's cruelty_ is bitter bane, But pain is not the fruit of pain. "Hearken, O poet, whom I led From the dark wood: dismissing dread, Now hear this angel in my stead. "His organ's clavier strikes along These poets' hearts, sonorous, strong, They gave him without count of wrong,-- "A diapason whence to guide Up to God's feet, from these who died, An anthem fully glorified-- "Whereat God's blessing, IBARAK (=yivarech=) Breathes back this music, folds it back About the earth in vapoury rack, "And men walk in it, crying 'Lo The world is wider, and we know The very heavens look brighter so: "'The stars move statelier round the edge Of the silver spheres, and give in pledge Their light for nobler privilege: "'No little flower but joys or grieves, Full life is rustling in the sheaves, Full spirit sweeps the forest-leaves.' "So works this music on the earth, God so admits it, sends it forth To add another worth to worth-- "A new creation-bloom that rounds The old creation and expounds His Beautiful in tuneful sounds. "Now hearken!" Then the poet gazed Upon the angel glorious-faced Whose hand, majestically raised,