At noon a shower had fallen, and the clime

Breathed sweetly, and upon a cloud there lay

One more sublime in beauty than the Day,

Or all the Sons of Time;

A gold harp had he, and was singing there

Songs that I yearn'd to hear; a glory shone

Of rosy twilights on his cheeks--a zone

Of amaranth on his hair.

He sang of joys to which the earthly heart

Hath never beat; he sang of deathless Youth,

And by the throne of Love, Beauty and Truth

Meeting, no more to part;

He sang lost Hope, faint Faith, and vain Desire

Crown'd there; great works, that on the earth began,

Accomplish'd; towers impregnable to man

Scaled with the speed of fire;

Of Power, and Life, and wingéd Victory

He sang--of bridges strown 'twixt star and star--

And hosts all arm'd in light for bloodless war

Pass, and repass on high;

Lo! in the pauses of his jubilant voice

He leans to listen: answers from the spheres,

And mighty paeans thundering he hears

Down the empyreal skies:

Then suddenly he ceased--and seem'd to rest

His goodly-fashion'd arm upon a slope

Of that fair cloud, and with soft eyes of hope

He pointed towards the West;

And shed on me a smile of beams, that told

Of a bright World beyond the thunder-piles,

With blesséd fields, and hills, and happy isles,

And citadels of gold.