From light to light her eyes imperial

Turn, and require the further light,

More perfect than the sun's in sight,

Till star and sun seem all funereal

Lamps of the vaulted night.

XXIX

She gazes till the strenuous soul

Within the rapture of her eyes

Creates or bids awake, arise,

The light she looks for, pure and whole

And worshipped of the wise.

XXX

Such sons are hers, such radiant hands

Have borne abroad her lamp of old,

Such mouths of honey-dropping gold

Have sent across all seas and lands

Her fame as music rolled.

XXXI

As music made of rolling thunder

That hurls through heaven its heart sublime,

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