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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Image worship</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why mounts my blood to cheek and brow,<br>  Like an ascending flame,<br> Whene'er from careless lips I hear<br>  The accents of thy name?<br> <br> Why, when my idle fancy seeks<br>  Some pictured form to trace,<br> Beneath my pencil still will grow<br>  The features of thy face?<br> <br> Why comes thy haunting shadow thus<br>  Between the world and me,<br> To bind my spirit with a charm<br>  That blinds to all but thee?<br> <br> To bid me watch thine upward course,<br>  Thy path from mine so far;<br> As earth, 'mid all the hosts of heaven,<br>  Watches the polar star?<br> <br> Thy cold and polished courtesy,<br>  Each look and tone of thine,<br> Might well have roused the woman's pride<br>  In duller souls than mine.<br> <br> They tell me, too, thy heart is light, --<br>  That more than once thou'st loved;<br> And 'mid all flowers of loveliness<br>  That bee-like thou hast roved.<br> <br> Why is it, then, while o'er thy heart<br>  There comes no thought of me,<br> The good, the true, the beautiful,<br>  All speak to me of thee?<br> <br> Think'st thou 'tis what the world calls love,<br>  Love that return is seeking?<br> No -- I would scorn a love I sought,<br>  Although my heart were breaking.<br> <br> It is because within the human heart<br>  There is an altar to an Unknown God,<br> Who from the gods of this world dwells apart,<br>  And in the Unseen, the Unreal, has his abode.<br> <br> This disembodied thought the soul pursues,<br>  And seeking in the visible a sign,<br> She moulds an image, like the apostate Jews,<br>  And sets her idol on the vacant shrine.<br> <br> Thus worshipped once an Indian maid the sun;<br>  Thus was an Arab boy won by a star;<br> Thus loved a maid of France the god in stone;<br>  And thus did Numa love a shape of air.<br> <br> What were the sun, the star, the god, to them,<br>  The fond idolators! thou art to me;<br> And rapturous as a poet's earliest dream,<br>  Is the sweet worship that I give to thee.<br> <br> The world around me is so dark and cold,<br>  Life hath for me such draughts of bitter sadness,<br> Oh, bid me not the mocking Real behold!<br>  Oh, wake me not from this delicious madness!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta">Anne Lynch Botta</a> from <i>Poems</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115189" data-title="Image worship de Anne Lynch Botta" data-description="Why mounts my blood to cheek and brow,/  Like an ascending flame,/ Whene'er from careless lips I hear/  The accents of thy name?/ / Why, when my idle fancy seeks/  Some pictured form to trace,/ Beneath my pencil still will grow/  The features of t..."></div>
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