Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret,
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Thus, although in a very cursory and imperfect manner, I have
endeavoured to convey to you my conception of the Poetic Principle. It
has been my purpose to suggest that, while this principle itself is
strictly and simply the Human Aspiration for Supernal Beauty, the
manifestation of the Principle is always found in an elevating
excitement of the soul, quite independent of that passion which is the
intoxication of the Heart, or of that truth which is the
satisfaction of the Reason. For in regard to passion, alas! its
tendency is to degrade rather than to elevate the Soul.
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