The Crystal

Olympian sunlight is the Poet’s sphere;
Yet of his rapt unconscious thought at play
The wintry stream gave image but to-day,
When first the frost his magic made appear;
The darkling water dreamed, and mirrored clear,
A thousand miles adown, the clouds’ array,
Nor any gleam or stirring did betray
The secret of the transformation near—
When, lo! what beauty flashing from the night
Of formless atoms! Nature stirs amain,
Building her crystal arches firm and well,
And framing fairy cantilevers bright.
So broods the vision in the Poet’s brain,
And leaps to life beneath a kindred spell.