A Dramatic Miniature,

I came beneath the holy hill
      Where jets the spring of Life-in-Youth,
Upon its summit flowers still
      The golden rose of Love-in-Truth.
My lips, that desert suns devoured,
      Were moist and merry at the draught;
And in that dew of sunlight showered
      I stood and shook myself, and laughed.
Lightly I lept upon the slope
      To gain the golden rose above;
Outpacing faith, outsoaring hope,
      I had no rival left but love. . . .
Mine arms are stretched to North and South,
      A scarlet cross, a soldier sun;
The rose is music on my mouth,
      Holiness to Hilarion!
I mark the bounds of space and time;
      I suck salvation from the sod;
I point the way for man to climb
      Up to his consummation, God.


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