Scenes of the Mind

I have run where festival was loudWith drum and brass among the crowdOf panic revellers, whose criesAffront the quiet of the skies;Whose dancing lights contract the deepInfinity of night and sleepTo a narrow turmoil of troubled fire.And I have found my heart's desireIn beechen caverns that autumn fillsWith the blue shadowiness of distant hills;Whose luminous grey pillars bearThe stooping sky: calm is the air,Nor any sound is heard to marThat crystal silence--as from far,Far off a man may seeThe busy world all utterlyHushed as an old memorial scene.Long evenings I have sat and beenStrangely content, while in my handsI held a wealth of coloured strands,Shimmering plaits of silk and skeinsOf soft bright wool. Each colour drainsNew life at the lamp's round pool of gold;Each sinks again when I withholdThe quickening radiance, to a wanAnd shadowy oblivionOf what it was. And in my mindBeauty or sudden love has shinedAnd wakened colour in what was deadAnd turned to gold the sullen leadOf mean desires and everyday'sPoor thoughts and customary ways.Sometimes in lands where mountains throwTheir silent spell on all below,Drawing a magic circle wideAbout their feet on every side,Robbed of all speech and thought and act,I have seen God in the cataract.In falling water and in flame,Never at rest, yet still the same,God shows himself. And I have knownThe swift fire frozen into stone,And water frozen changelesslyInto the death of gems. And ILong sitting by the thunderous millHave seen the headlong wheel made still,And in the silence that ensuedHave known the endless solitudeOf being dead and utterly nought.Inhabitant of mine own thought,I look abroad, and all I seeIs my creation, made for me:Along my thread of life are pearledThe moments that make up the world.