Transmutation (StC)

By George Sterling

Thine alchemy hath touched familiar things
    And made of each a fairer than I know;
    For now when music wakens, 'tis as tho'
Thy soul had spoken. Never linnet sings
But what my heart flies forth on wilder wings
    Than his; and when the winds in whispers go,
    From gardens where thou art they seem to blow.
And weave thy voice amid their murmurings.

And in each other sense my heart hath found
All that thy subtle magic gives to sound;
    For sight hath memories exquisite with thee,
        And past all bliss of Heaven mad with bliss—
    Ah! past its deepest dream of ecstasy!—
        Sink on my lips the roses of thy kiss.


Bibliography Entry