  No temple crowned the shaggy capes, No safety soothed the kind, The clouds unfabled shifted shapes, And nameless roamed the wind. The stars, the circling heights of heaven, The mountains bright with snows Looked down, and sadly man at even Lay down and sad he rose. Till ages brought the hour again, When fell a windless morn, And, child of agonistic pain And bliss, the Word was born. Which grew from all it gazed upon, And spread thro' soil and sphere, And shrunk the whole into the one, And fetched the farthest here. High is the summer's night, but deep The hidden mind unfolds: Within it does an image sleep Of all that it beholds. Alas! when man with busy brow, To planet, plant, and worm, who now Will teach us to forget? What poet now, when wisdoms fail, Another theme shall dare— The Nameless, and remove the veil Which hides it everywhere? John Eglinton |
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