Soul of the World

By George Sterling

Nature is made a shrine where I adore:
    My house of pines is murmurous of thee,
    As winds responsive wander from the sea.
The voice of ocean on the windy shore
Is like some god that calls thee. More and more
    The moonlight hath thy wands of witchery.
    Thy fragrance from the night is rendered me,
And thine the crown of stars Astarte wore.

But never dusk, nor the moon's white despair,
    Nor fragrances of star-restoring night,
        Nor hush when day and evening merge their hues,
Can ever wholly make my heart aware
    Of all thy spirit's lure and body's light.
        Too fair to keep, too marvelous to lose!


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