To George Sterling (5)

By Charles Warren Stoddard

"The Angel Israfael, whose heart strings
 are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice
 of all God's creatures"

Spirit of fire and dew
Embodied anew.
Vital and virile thy blood—
  Thy body a flagon of wine
  Almost divine:
    Thou art a faun o' the wood,
A sprite o' the flood,
  Not of the world understood.

Voice that is heard from afar,
Voice of the soul of a star.

From thy cloud in the azure above
'Tis thy song that awakeneth love—
  Love that invites and awe that retards—
  Blesséd art thou among bards.

My astral is there where thou art,
Soul of my soul, heart of my heart.

Thou in whose sight I am mute,
  In whose song I rejoice:
  And even as echo fain would I voice
With timbrel and tabor and flute,
With viol and lute;
  Something of worth in thy praise—
  Delight of my days—
But may not for lack of thy skill,
For the deed take the will.

Unworthy, ill done, incomplete,
This scroll at thy feet.

Sunset, June 1908, Volume XXI, Number 2, 179-180.