Iris

Light to the eye and Music to the ear,--These are the builders of the bridge that springsFrom earth's dim shore of half-remembered thingsTo reach the heavenly sphereWhere nothing silent is and nothing dark.So when I see the rainbow's arcSpanning the showery sky, far-off I hearMusic, and every colour sings:And while the symphony builds up its roundFull sweep of architectural harmonyAbove the tide of Time, far, far away I seeA bow of colour in the bow of sound.Red as the dawn the trumpet rings;Blue as the sky, the choir of stringsDarkens in double-bass to ocean's hue,Rises in violins to noon-tide's blue,With threads of quivering light shot through and through;Green as the mantle that the summer flingsAround the world, the pastoral reeds in tuneEmbroider melodies of May and June.Purer than gold,Yea, thrice-refined gold,And richer than the treasures of the mine,Floods of the human voice divineAlong the arch in choral song are rolled.So bends the bow complete:And radiant rapture flowsAcross the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet,That the uplifted spirit hardly knowsWhether the Music-Light that glowsWithin the arch of tones and colours seven,Is sunset-peace of earth or sunrise-joy of Heaven.