Song of an Angel

At noon a shower had fallen, and the clime
Breathed sweetly, and upon a cloud there lay
One more sublime in beauty than the Day,
Or all the Sons of Time ;

A gold harp had he, and was singing there
Songs that I yearn'd to hear ; a glory shone
Of rosy twilights on his cheeks — a zone
Of amaranth on his hair.

He sang of joys to which the earthly heart
Hath never beat ; he sang of deathless Youth,
And by the throne of Love, Beauty and Truth
Meeting, no more to part ;

He sang lost Hope, faint Faith, and vain Desire
Crown'd there ; great works, that on the earth began,
Accomplish'd ; towers impregnable to man
Scaled with the speed of fire ;

Of Power, and Life, and winged Victory
He sang — of bridges strown 'twixt star and star —
And hosts all arm'd in light for bloodless war
Pass, and repass on high ;

Lo ! in the pauses of his jubilant voice
He leans to listen : answers from the spheres,
And mighty paeans thundering he hears
Down the empyreal skies :

Then suddenly he ceased — and seem'd to rest
His godly-fashion'd arm upon a slope
Of that fair cloud, and with soft eyes of hope
He pointed towards the West ;

And shed on me a smile of beams, that told
Of a bright World beyond the thunder-piles,
With blessed fields, and hills, and happy isles,
And citadels of gold.