Chorus of Eden Spirits
HEARKEN,
oh
hearken!
let
your
souls
behind
you
Turn,
gently
moved!
Our
voices
feel
along
the
Dread
to
find
you,
O
lost,
beloved!
Through
the
thick-shielded
and
strong-marshalled
angels,
They
press
and
pierce:
Our
requiems
follow
fast
on
our
evangels,—
Voice
throbs
in
verse.
We
are
but
orphaned
spirits
left
in
Eden
A
time
ago:
God
gave
us
golden
cups,
and
we
were
bidden
To
feed
you
so.
But
now
our
right
hand
hath
no
cup
remaining,
No
work
to
do,
The
mystic
hydromel
is
spilt,
and
staining
The
whole
earth
through.
Most
ineradicable
stains,
for
showing
(Not
interfused!)
That
brighter
colours
were
the
world’s
foregoing,
Than
shall
be
used.
Hearken,
oh
hearken!
ye
shall
hearken
surely
For
years
and
years,
The
noise
beside
you,
dripping
coldly,
purely,
Of
spirits’
tears.
The
yearning
to
a
beautiful
denied
you,
Shall
strain
your
powers.
Ideal
sweetnesses
shall
over-glide
you,
Resumed
from
ours.
In
all
your
music,
our
pathetic
minor
Your
ears
shall
cross;
And
all
good
gifts
shall
mind
you
of
diviner,
With
sense
of
loss.
We
shall
be
near
you
in
your
poet-languors
And
wild
extremes,
What
time
ye
vex
the
desert
with
vain
angers,
Or
mock
with
dreams.
And
when
upon
you,
weary
after
roaming,
Death’s
seal
is
put,
By
the
foregone
ye
shall
discern
the
coming,
Through
eyelids
shut.
