Not only these, but other shapes and forms

Might dwell unseen about us at all times.

If air was only matter rarefied,

Why could not things still more impalpable

Have real existence? Whence came our thoughts?

As angels came to shepherds in Chaldee;

They were not ours. He fancied that most thoughts

Were whispered to the soul, or good, or bad.

The bad were like a demon, a vast shape

With measureless black wings, that when it dared,

Placed its clawed foot upon the necks of men,

And with the very shadow of itself,

Made their lives darker than a starless night.

He did not strive to picture out the good,

Or give to them a figure; but he knew

No glory of the sunset could compare

With the clear splendor of one noble deed.

He proudly dreamed that to no other mind

Had these imaginings been uttered.

Alas! poor heart, how many have awoke,

 Prev. P 41/151 next