Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light

Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound.

What we call senses here, there so abound,

The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight,

Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white

Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound!

For every moment there, new Heavens astound

The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might.

If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?"

Be the one chant of angel and of Saint

Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint

Between their transports to high Heavens from lower;

For, what is love's eternal Firmament

But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar?