This is the song the stars sing,
(Ton-ed all in time);
Tintinnabulous, tuned to ring
A multitudinous-single thing,
Rung all in rhyme.



FROM THE NIGHT OF FOREBEING.
An ode after Easter.

In the chaos of preordination, and night of our forebeings.--

SIR THOMAS BROWNE.

Et lux in tenebris erat, et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt.--

ST. JOHN.

Cast wide the folding doorways of the East,
For now is light increased!
And the wind-besomed chambers of the air,
See they be garnished fair;
And look the ways exhale some precious odours,
And set ye all about wild-breathing spice,
Most fit for Paradise.
Now is no time for sober gravity,
Season enough has Nature to be wise;
But now discinct, with raiment glittering free,
Shake she the ringing rafters of the skies