In the silence of the midnight², in the light of dawn or noontide

I have heard the flutings of the Infinite, I have seen the sun-wings of the seraphs.

On the boundless solitude of the mountains, on the shoreless roll of ocean,

Something is felt of God’s vastness, fleeting³ touches of the Absolute

Momentary and immeasurable smite⁴ the sense nature free from its limits,–

A brief glimpse, a hint, it passes, but the soul grows deeper, wider:

God has set his mark upon the creature.

In the flash or flutter of flight of bird and insect, in the passion of wing⁵ and cry⁶ on treetops⁷,

In the golden feathers of the eagle, in the maned and tawny glory of the lion,

In the voiceless hierophants of Nature with their hieratic script of colour,

Orchid, tulip and narcissus, rose and nenuphar and lotus,

Something of eternal beauty seizes on the soul and nerves and heartstrings.