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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=559474" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Introit : VIII. The Golden Joy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What has the poet but a glorious phrase<br>And the heart's wisdom? -- Oh, a Joy of gold!<br>A Joy to mint and squander on the Kind,--<br>Pure gold coined current for eternity,<br>Giving dear wealth to men for a long age,<br>And after, lost to sight and touch of hands,<br>Leaving a memory that will bud and bloom<br>And blossom all into a lyric phrase--<br>The glorious phrase again on other lips,<br>The heritage of Joy, the heart again, <br>Wisdom anew that ages not but lives<br>To Sappho-sing the Poet else forgot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Joy! O secret transport of mystic vision,<br>Who hold'st the keys of Ivory and Horn,<br>Who join'st the hands of Earth and Faerie!<br>Thou art the inmate of the hermit soul<br>That shuns the touch of every street-worn wind<br>Sweet to all else, the shuns doctrine and doubt,<br>To wait in trembling quietness for thee.<br>Thou art the spouse of the busy human mind<br>That bravely, sanely, bears his worldly part<br>And claims no favour for the gift of thee:<br>But, Nature's child, lives true in Nature's right,<br>Filling the duties of the Tribe of Man,<br>Keeping the heart, O Joy! untarnished still<br>And pinion-strong to soar the exalted way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Poet guards the philosophic soul<br>In contemplation that no importunate thought<br>May mar his ecstasy or change his song;<br>And though he see the gloom and sing of sorrow,<br>He is the world's Herald of Joy at last:<br>His song is Joy, the music that needs sorrow<br>To fill its closes, as Death fulfils Life,<br>As Life fills Time, and Time Eternity:<br>Joy that sees Death, yet in Death sees not woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Joy! the Spring is green -- on many a wall<br>The roses straggle, on many a tree dew-laden;<br>And now the waters murmur 'neath their banks<br>And all the flocks are loud with firstling cries,<br>And in the heart of life Joy wakes anew<br>To live a long day ere the winter falls;<br>And now the song of an invisible lark,<br>And now a child's voice makes the morning glad;<br>The kindling sky and the mist-wreathed earth<br>Have broken from the drowsihood of night,--<br>Dawn widened grey, but now the orient blush<br>Is over all the roses on the wall,<br>Over the drooping trees that wait the winds<br>To join them to the murmur of the day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Pilgrim Seer who journeyed silently <br>When all the ways were Winter, wild and bare,<br>Tarries to-day to hear the call of bliss,--<br>Of Joy, Joy, Joy! thou emblem, symbol, sign<br>Of all the Pilgrim's dream of Paradise--<br>The Beatific Vision of Beauty supreme!<br>Thou art the Angel of the Gate of Heaven!<br>Thou art the great Vice-regent of the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then forward goes and will not brook Life's house,<br>Yearning to dwell far away, far away,<br>In the wide palace of Eternity--<br>To hold a life beyond this birth and death<br>With the high Prophets in their calm sublime.--<br>Ah yet, in Joy's despite, his heart will keep<br>Memorial futile melancholy thought<br>Of this and some that never knew the gold!<br>And so he turns, bows down to toil with men,<br>To toil and strive and care for earthy cares;<br>The common life that has her claim on all <br>Claims him, and yet leaves him his ecstasy;<br>Knowing the glooms of life and the dark nights,<br>Sure of the dawns and the white Summer days,<br>He sings in twilight and the state of Job<br>One golden Dawn and one enduring Wealth!<br>So he keeps ever burning in his heart<br>The fire eternal that will flame and shine<br>When the man lies compounded with the rest<br>Who never knew to look upon his light,<br>Whose light none saw, whose lives are all forgot.<br>One is Eternity to common man,<br>Twain to the poet soul;-- though his name die, <br>Though after fall of years many or few<br>His phrases wander out of memory's fold,<br>His soul is twain, a heritage has he,<br>His dreams are children dreams and parent dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What has the Poet but a glorious phrase<br>And the heart's wisdom? He has naught to do<br>With April changes that your lives endue,<br>Sunshine and shadow. Him your blame and praise<br>Trouble in calm along the spirit's ways<br>That are with the great Change, unchanging, true,<br>With the great Silence where no voice is new<br>And no voice old -- a train of prophet days.<br>What but the Golden Joy that sacred stands<br>As gift of Paradise to human art?<br>For though the lust of the world still claims and brands<br>All others, the Joy stands for us apart<br>And will not fail or tarnish touched by hands<br>That highly bear the trust of poet heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So would I rhythm and rime the glorious phrase<br>In this Spring lyric morning of my day,<br>When brown and green and nebulous silver lie<br>Quiet and happy 'neath the vernal pomp <br>Of that rich sky,--- the trees a dome of song,<br>Song in the waters, in the sea-born wind,<br>And in the human soul the Cherub hymn<br>Of Joy, which is the heart's philosophy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear holy hymn, yet wert thou sad to hear<br>Matched with the dream song of the Ivory Gate<br>That waked a boy to rapture long ago, <br>That raised a boy to poet in an hour,<br>That the boy failed to mimic with his voice<br>But held heart-hid against his vocal day<br>And sings here to thee, Joy, this lyric morn!<br>For first he sang out of a book of Death <br>Before his day, and then with weaker voice<br>Chanted a resurrection, sang for Hope<br>All in a Spring like this, before his day.<br>Of Beauty now which is the light of Hope<br>He sings and of the Quest that cannot cease<br>Voyaging to Wonder on an endless road;<br>But chiefly and over all and through the whole<br>Sings yet the memory of untaught days<br>When dawn and dark brought to the waiting soul<br>The vision that he sees now through the dusk<br>Leading him back to thy tranquility.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw last night again the Unknown Land,<br>And, travelled far, I stood beside a sea<br>Whose pale waves crowding stared head over head<br>And mouthed warning inarticulate.<br>Spirits of poets they, high called and lost,<br>Thus missing half the Man's eternity<br>For gaining half the Poet's, Joy forgone.<br>And there by the dread waste of liquid life<br>My feet were set upon a living shore<br>Wrought of the souls that never knew the Joy<br>And never needed, never lost, -- all dumb<br>But at long rest while the waves turn and toss.<br>These quiet I loved more than the quick foam,<br>And yet the human pity at my heart<br>Stirred and would draw me to that passionate shame,<br>But that the Joy flamed and the glorious phrase<br>Broke into rapture: the waves wept to hear,<br>Wept for the exaltation once their own,<br>Wept for the gold they never more may spend<br>In mintage of the phrase upon the Kind,<br>Wept, wept, to scatter from the spirit's tower<br>The joy-notes and the glory of this song.<br>I hastened thence to spare them cruelty<br>Out through the Ivory Gate,-- and thus I know<br>The dream was but a symbol of the true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is the Spring and these the songs of Spring,<br>Songs of the rathe rose and the lily's hope;--<br>For now the Poet hears the lily call<br>That came to Christ from beauty's natural shrine<br>And, through his lips, soared sacred out and up <br>Into the space beyond of holiness,<br>The aether of the rapture of High God.<br>Oh! it steals to us like the breath of dawn<br>That fills the pipes of Nature with sweet sounds,--<br>Steals low and swells anon into a chant <br>To throb and triumph through the heart of Spring<br>With the clear canticle of Love that hails <br>The orient Epiphany of Joy.<br>And now the poet heart is calling too<br>And called aloud by every voice divine<br>Behind our wall out through the lattices.<br>Now is the season of the Golden Joy,<br>Now is the season of the birth of Love--<br>The perfect passion of the heart of God,<br>The rapture of the beauty of the world,<br>The rapture of eternity of bliss!<br>For all our Winters pass and all rains go,<br>And all the flowers of Joy appear again,<br>And Spring is green with figs more beautiful<br>And sweet with odours of the mystic Tree<br>That droops its branches over Heaven and Earth,<br>Scattering flowers and fruit and passionate wine<br>Down into all the places of the sun,<br>And into all the nether places dim,<br>Fragrant with ecstasy of Joy and Peace.<br>And who will steep his senses in the flowers<br>And who will feed his spirit on the fruit<br>And who will his veins with the great wine<br>Shall see no Winters and shall feel no rains<br>But Joy perpetual in the Land of God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+MacDonagh">Thomas MacDonagh</a><div class=q>
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And the heart's wisdom? -- Oh, a Joy of gold!
A Joy to mint and squander on the Kind,--
Pure gold coined current for eternity,
Giving dear wealth to men for a long age,
And after, lost to sight and touch of ..."></div>
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