Love the Transmuter
By George Sterling
I, who was lonely Beauty's loner priest.
(If solitude of heart so testify),
Stand loneliest now, with all that heart a sigh.
The music of the world has never ceast;
Still bloom the dawn's wide lilies on the east,
And still the faces of the gods go by,
But down at evening from the quiet sky,
When spirits muse, dream-held and dream-relcast.
What sun has made Time's mystery a light,
Simple and splendid as the litten Dew
By day-warm grasses gathered from the night?
What golden spell is on familiar things,
That all seem marvellously strange and new,—
That sunset now seems thronged with heavenly wings ?
Carmel.