  Even as a hawk’s in the large heaven’s hollow Are the great ways and gracious of your love: No lesser flight or wearier wing may follow In those broad gyres where you rest and move. Most merciless, most high, most proud, most lonely— In the clear space between the sky and sea Wheel her huge orbits, where the sea-winds only Wander the sun-roads of Immensity. Yet have I known your heart and of what fashion Your love, how great, how hardly to be borne— Your tenderness, too perfect for compassion, Your divine strength, too pure and proud for scorn. You are most beautiful, but it is given But few to find you, fewer still to keep Your high path through the solitude of heaven, My lonely one, your watch upon the Deep. Now toward the gold glow of the sunset’s splendor Veer your great vans. What haven in the west Now draws you—while the mellowing light makes tender Your dripping plumes—what islands of the blest? Lift me, O lift me up to you forever, Beautiful Terror! Let your sacred might Stoop to me here, and save—O let me never Sink from you now, to share a lesser flight! Even as I pray, my wings of longing fail me, And my heart flags. In solitude you move Down the night’s shore: not praying shall avail me, To lift me, fallen from your faultless love. |
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