Presentiment

Hast thou not felt when journeying to the place
Whence some clear prospect might before thee lie, -
Some gleam of beauty, — to reward the eye,
For long dull leagues of dreary interspace,
A strange desire to mend thy lagging pace.
Which still grew stronger as the scene drew nigh,

Till one could fret at the necessity
Which bound him in the senses' strict embrace?
Such is the inward yearning of the soul
Towards the vision of the Infinite
When Time's thick folded mists at last unroll;
It strives to cast aside each earthly bond.

And scale the ridge between it and the light
Of God that sleeps on blessed lands beyond.