Psalm Of The Day

A something in a summer's day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.
,
A something in a summer's noon, --
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
,
And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;
,
Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.
,
The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;
,
Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,
,
Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;
,
Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;
,
Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, -- some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;
,
Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before
,
The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.