Mutual Love, The Crown Of

Now Came Still Evening On, And Twilight Gray Had In Her Sober Livery All Things Clad; Silence Accompany'd; For Beast And Bird, They To Their Grassy Couch, These To Their Nests, Were Slunk, All But The Wakeful Nightingale; She All Night Long Her Amorous Descant Sung; Silence Was Pleas'd. Now Glow'd The Firmament With Living Sapphires; Hesperus, That Led The Starry Host, Rode Brightest, Till The Moon, Rising In Clouded Majesty, At Length Apparent Queen Unveil'd Her Peerless Light, And O'er The Dark Her Silver Mantle Threw.

Truth Is Compared In Scripture To A Streaming Fountain; If Her Waters Flow Not In Perpetual Progression, They Sicken Into A Muddy Pool Of Conformity And Tradition.

And On The Tree Of Life, The Middle Tree And Highest There That Grew, Sat Like A Cormorant.

... Then There Was War In Heaven. But It Was Not Angels. It Was That Small Golden Zeppelin, Like A Long Oval World, High Up. It Seemed As If The Cosmic Order Were Gone, As If There Had Come A New Order, A New Heavens Above Us: And As If The World In Anger Were Trying To Revoke It.

Ere The Blabbing Eastern Scout, The Nice Morn, On Th' Indian Steep From Her Cabin'd Loop-hole Peep.