I.

Who shall dispart the Poet's golden threads, From the fine tissues of Philosophy?-- Mounts to one goal, each guess that _upward_ leads, Whether it soar in some impassion'd sigh Or some still thought; alike, it doth but tend To Light that draws it heavenward.--'Tis but one Great law that from the violet lifts the dew At dawn and twilight to the amorous sun, Or calls the mist, which navies glimmer through, From the vast hush of an unfathom'd sea. The Athenian guess'd that when our souls descend From some lost realm (sad aliens here to be), Dim broken memories of the state before Form what we call our 'reason';[C]--nothing taught But all remember'd;--gleams from elder lore, Pallid revivals of sublimer thought, Which, though by fits and dreamily recall'd, Make all the light our sense receives below; Like the vague hues down-floating--disenthrall'd From their bright birthplace, the lost Iris-bow.

Is this Philosophy or Song? Why ask? How judge?--The instant that we leave the ground Of the hard Positive, who saith "I _know_?" Conjecture, fancy, faith--'tis _these_ we task, When Reason passes but an inch the bound In which our senses draw the captive's breath. And never yet Philosopher severe Strove for a glimpse beyond the Bridge of Death, But straight he enter'd on that atmosphere Poets illume:--Let Logic prove the Known; Truths that we know not, if we would explore, We must imagine! Link, then, evermore Together--each so desolate alone, O Poesy, O Knowledge!--

Is not Love, Of all those memories which to parent skies Mount struggling back--(as to their source above, In upward showers, imprison'd founts arise;) Oh, is not Love the strongest and the clearest? Love, and thine eyes instinctive seek the Heaven; Love, and a hymn from every star thou hearest; Love, and a world beyond the sense is given; Love, and how many a glorious sleeping power Wakes in thy breast and lifts thyself from thee; Love, and, till then so wedded to the Hour, Thy thoughts go forth and ask Eternity!

Lose what thou lovest, and the life of old Is from thine eyes, O soul, no more conceal'd; Look beyond Death, and through thy tears behold There, where Love goes--thine ancient home reveal'd.