That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection
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loud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm arches,Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ' lashes lace, lance, and pair.Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ' ropes, wrestles, beats earth bareOf yestertempest's creases; in pool and rut peel parchesSquandering ooze to squeezed ' dough, crust, dust; stanches, starchesSquadroned masks and manmarks ' treadmire toil thereFootfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, ' nature's bonfire burns on.But quench her bonniest, dearest ' to her, her clearest-selvèd sparkMan, how fast his firedint, ' his mark on mind, is gone!Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous darkDrowned. O pity and indig ' nation! Manshape, that shoneSheer off, disseveral, a star, ' death blots black out; nor mark Is any of him at all so starkBut vastness blurs and time ' beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, ' joyless days, dejection. Across my foundering deck shoneA beacon, an eternal beam. ' Flesh fade, and mortal trashFall to the residuary worm; ' world's wildfire, leave but ash: In a flash, at a trumpet crash,I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, andThis Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, Is immortal diamond.
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