Lvii

She meets us with impressive hands And eyes of earnest emphasis Between the known and unknown lands, And fills our souls with untold bliss, This spirit of the solitude Named Meditation; thought-imbued, On whom all beauty ministers; Whose silent, dreaming worshipers Lay unresisting hands in hers, Knowing their hearts are understood.

The holy harp she holds and smites Was tuned among concordant spheres; The heavenly pen with which she writes Was dipped in angel smiles and tears: Between her eyebrows and her eyes The starry stamp of silence lies; Between her symboled lips and tongue, The song the stars of morning sung: To this her heavenly harp is strung, In that her holy pen is wise.