O MYSTIC WINGS
Reading edition
O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now, Beyond life’s faithful labour to a seat Where I can feel the end of things complete, Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow. O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth Makes atmosphere of purity and power; ‘Tis man’s breath kills the spring’s soft-petaled flower— Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth. Ye give a value for all loss in age, When feebled eyes search for forgotten springs; Ye fan the breeze that turns the moulded page, And carry back the soul to ardent things. Poor payment can I give, but here engage I thee to be Love’s airy equipage.