The Soul, of late a lovely sleeping child, 
Spreads sudden wings and stands in radiant guise, 
Eyed like the morn and bent upon the skies; 
Her the blue gulf dismays not, nor the wild 
Horizons with the wrecks of thunder piled; 
Storm has she known, and how its murmur dies 
Starlike through stainless heavens she would rise 
And be no more with cloudy dreams beguiled. 
Was sleep not sweet?--sweet till on sleeping ears 
Earth's voices broke in discord. Now she hears 
Far, far away diviner music move; 
Nor shall her wing be sated of its flight, 
Nor shall her eyes be weary of the night, 
While round her sweep the singing stars of Love.