Then only shall thy liberty arise, 
Then only shall thine eagle shake his wings, 
And sunward soar through the unsullied skies, 
And careless watch the destiny of kings. 
Then only shall truth’s angel in thine eyes 
Perceive eternal things. 
 
The oracle is suddenly grown still. 
Only, mine eyes, unweary of the sight, 
Pierce through the dawn-mist of the sacred hill 
And yearn toward the rose of love and light. 
My lips, that drank the Heliconian rill, 
Murmur with slow delight. 
 
I see the faces of the lyric Nine ! 
The Rose of God its petals will unfold ! 
I madden with the ecstasy divine ! 
My soul leaps sunwards, shrieking—and behold ! 
Out of the ocean and the kindling brine 
Apollo’s face of gold ! 
 
What music, what delirium, what delight ! 
What dancing madness catches at my feet ! 
A tongue of fresh, impossible, keen light 
Burns on my brow—a silver stream of heat. 
I am constrained :  The Awful Word I write 
From the one Paraclete.
 
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