Transmutation

To me all beauty that I see Is melody made visible: An earth-translated state, may be, Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.

Out of some love-impassioned strain Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom; And, dreaming of it here again, Perhaps relives it as perfume.

Out of some chant, that demons sing Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; And, haply, still remembering, Relives it here as some wild hue.