I
Serene1 and beautiful and very wise, Most erudite in curious Grecian lore2, You lay and read your learned books, and bore A weight of unshed tears and silent sighs. The song within your heart could never rise Until love bade it spread its wings and soar. Nor could you look on Beauty's face before A poet's burning mouth had touched your eyes.
Love is made out of ecstasy3 and wonder； Love is a poignant4 and accustomed pain. It is a burst of Heaven-shaking thunder； It is a linnet's fluting5 after rain. Love's voice is through your song； above and under And in each note to echo and remain.
II
Because Mankind is glad and brave and young, Full of gay flames that white and scarlet6 glow, All joys and passions that Mankind may know By you were nobly felt and nobly sung. Because Mankind's heart every day is wrung7 By Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so, Therefore you echoed Man's undying woe8, A harp9 Aeolian on Life's branches hung.
So did the ghosts of toiling10 children hover11 about the piteous portals of your mind； Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discover The angry scar to which the world was blind： And it was grief that made Mankind your lover, And it was grief that made you love Mankind.
III
Before Christ left the Citadel12 of Light, To tread the dreadful way of human birth, His shadow sometimes fell upon the earth And those who saw it wept with joy and fright. Thou art Apollo, than the sun more bright！ They cried. Our music is of little worth, But thrill our blood with thy creative mirth Thou god of song, thou lord of lyric13 might！
O singing pilgrim！ who could love and follow Your lover Christ, through even love's despair, You knew within the cypress-darkened hollow The feet that on the mountain are so fair. For it was Christ that was your own Apollo, And thorns were in the laurel on your hair.
