Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair

by


    Chief of organic Numbers!
    Old Scholar of the Spheres!
    Thy spirit never slumbers,
    But rolls about our ears
    For ever and for ever.
    O, what a mad endeavour
    Worketh he
    Who, to thy sacred and ennobled hearse,
    Would offer a burnt sacrifice of verse
    And Melody!

    How heavenward thou soundedst
    Live Temple of sweet noise;
    And discord unconfoundedst:
    Giving delight new joys,
    And Pleasure nobler pinions
    O where are thy Dominions!
    Lend thine ear
    To a young delian oath aye, by thy soul,
    By all that from thy mortal Lips did roll;
    And by the Kernel of thine earthly Love,
    Beauty, in things on earth and things above,
    When every childish fashion
    Has vanish'd from my rhyme
    Will I grey-gone in passion
    Give to an after-time
    Hymning and harmony
    Of thee, and of thy Words and of thy Life:
    But vain is now the bruning and the strife
    Pangs are in vain until I grow high-rife
    With Old Philosophy
    And mad with glimpses at futurity!

    For many years my offerings must be hush'd:
    When I do speak I'll think upon this hour,
    Because I feel my forehead hot and flush'd,
    Even at the simplest vassal of thy Power,
    A Lock of thy bright hair!
    Sudden it came,
    And I was startled when I heard thy name
    Coupled so unaware
    Yet, at the moment, temperate was my blood:
    Methought I had beheld it from the flood.

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