Clairvoyance

The sunlight, that makes of the heaven A pathway for sylphids to throng; The wind, that makes harps of the forests For spirits to smite into song, Are the image and voice of a vision That comforts the heart and makes strong.

I look in one’s face, and the shadows Are lifted; and, lo, I can see, Through windows of evident being,-- Filled full of eternity,-- The form of the essence of Beauty God garments with mystery.

I hearken one’s voice, and the wrangle Of living hath pause: and I hear, Through doors of invisible spirit,-- Filled full of God’s light that is clear,-- The radiant raiment of Music, In the hush of the heavens, sweep near.