A taloned flash, an earthquake crash, And, lo! upon the sea, Black wall on wall, a giant pall, Night settles hideously.
And where it burned, a rose inurned, Red in the vasty sea, The phantasm of the dread above Sits in immensity.
TRANs.m.u.tATION
To me all beauty that I see Is melody made visible: An earth-translated state, may be, Of music heard in Heaven or h.e.l.l.
Out of some love-impa.s.sioned strain Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom; And, dreaming of it here again, Perhaps re-lives it as perfume.
Out of some chant that demons sing Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; And, haply, still remembering, Re-lives it here as some wild hue.
THE END
FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF THIS BOOK (THIRTY-FIVE COPIES OF WHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER) WERE PRINTED DURING MARCH BY JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE