Renascent, leave the tombment of thy bed, Though rich with painted love of legend dead, And gilded with the gold of hallowed time, And dim with dreams and darkness of the prime.
O joy of Man, arise! Behold Time brings Deliverance for thee, and thoughts’ swift wings Are dyed afresh in iris hues of Hope Who paints for thee, by her creative scope, New heaven in earth renewed before thy sight, With golden fields unreaped and fresh delight Of flower, and fruit of no forbidden tree, Where Life is Love, and blooms sweet Liberty.
O Bride of Light! Like Aphrodite rise From rosy waves of morn that crystallize Thy sacred image in their mirror, smooth As sculpture of the shining limbs they soothe; And clothe thyself in pureness like the sun, With lily lawn and blue of heaven, spun From spotless fields of interstellar space— A seamless shrine to keep thy inward grace.
Put on thy broidered robe, thy bride’s attire, Put on thy glory, and the jewel fire Of fearless thought, nor let thine handmaids spare, All grateful tribute from the sweet and fair To deck thy loveliness, and make appear The fullness of the beauty thou dost wear: But let no crown thy golden head dethrone Except the coronal of wisdom’s own.
Fare forth, fair Bride, and from thy chamber come, Lo! they are waiting who shall lead thee home: The winged procession of the eager Hours, Before thy feet to pave the way with flowers; The Daughters of the Year, the Seasons Four, Have decked the happy earth with sun and shower; Each joyful mouth, each blissful day is swift To bring unto thy feet its treasured gift; The Sisters Three, who plough, and sow, and reap, Still gather thee Time’s grain in growing heap, From golden age to golden age to be; Their dreamful faces rapt in prophecy Of veiled futurity’s potential hour Where Fate prepareth thine immortal dower.
Arise, sweet soul! Arise, and take thy throne, Upbuilt in ages long by stone on stone— The human spirit’s still aspiring stair Whose marble feet were laid in toil and care, And washed with tears, and worn in eager quest Of false and fleeting phantoms, seeking rest. But now thy feet are fledged and would aspire To climb the summit of thy hope’s desire, High where in sculptured walls and towers rise Her architecture, white in azure skies, Tinged with the fire of dawn above thy head— Ah! there, fair soul, thy marriage feast is spread.