To Beauty
What
temples have we raised—what palaces—1
What blossoms twined to bind thy sacred head—2
Have we not burned sweet spice and incenses,3
And stabbed our souls with rapture till they bled4
Rich and most sacred blood, and with sad feet5
Wandered through voiceless lands for ever trod6
By the faint footsteps of some hidden god—7
Finding nor peace in life nor any ease,8
But vain desires and passions incomplete ?9
For we have loved thee—bending at thy shrine,10
With many prayers, and all our lives and all11
Our souls, and all our songs and loves were thine—12
And lo ! the world was fair and like the fall13
Of fructifying rains—the splendid tears14
Wept by the eyes of those who worshipped thee !15
And from wild lips rose clouds of melody16
Drunk with the lees of rapture and strange wine17
Filled with the breath of song-engendered years.18
But now the years are barren and thy face19
Is shrouded, and thy feet have passed away20
To some blest isle—some holy dwelling-place,21
Where still with ancient love the old gods pray22
To thee who art the primal god, whose breath23
Breathed the first word that bade the dawn arise—24
Ah ! what of thee ? the oceans and the skies25
Are thine, and all the vague, vast ways of space,26
And the tumultuous coils of life and death.27
But what of thee ! Alas, not any more28
Shall men behold thee in thine ancient groves ;29
Nor yet supreme on any mortal shore—30
Nor in the hollow hearts of mortal loves.31
Only a few still follow thee, and where32
Thy desecrated, ruined altars stand,33
In the lone paths of some’ forgotten land—34
They worship and their secret blood forth pour—35
A dread and sorrowful oblation there36