A NAMELESS power lives in thy verse,
A gleam of things divine!
And with meek looks and claspèd hands
My spirit bows to thine.

Now beams thy soul-light on the heart,
Like morn-rise, soft and tender;
And now in wild, impassioned fire
Breaks forth with startling splendor.

We say, when gently steal along
Thy light, love-breathing numbers,
That Song's sweet angel whispering bends
Above thy nightly slumbers.

Anon there peals from out thy lays
A voice so clear and bold,
That we might almost dream thou wert
A prophetess of old.

The eye glows with unwonted fire,
The soul's still depths are stirred;
The heart leaps to intenser life
At every burning word!

We see on swift, untiring wing
The morning lark uprise,
Until his tuneful gush of joy
Floats faintly down the skies.

Thus thou art rising glad and free,
Thy wild song downward flinging,
Up toward the morning gates of heaven
Thy flight of glory winging.