Love the Transmuter

By George Sterling

I, who was lonely Beauty's loner priest.
    (If solitude of heart so testify),
    Stand loneliest now, with all that heart a sigh.
The music of the world has never ceast;
Still bloom the dawn's wide lilies on the east,
    And still the faces of the gods go by,
    But down at evening from the quiet sky,
When spirits muse, dream-held and dream-relcast.

What sun has made Time's mystery a light,
    Simple and splendid as the litten Dew
By day-warm grasses gathered from the night?
        What golden spell is on familiar things,
    That all seem marvellously strange and new,—
        That sunset now seems thronged with heavenly wings ?


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