Lo! from quiet skies
In through the window my Lord the Sun!
And my eyes
Were dazzled and drunk with
the misty gold,
The golden glory that drowned and crowned me
Eddied and swayed through the room . .
To left and to right,
Hunched figures and old,
Dull blear-eyed scribbling fools, grew fair,
round and haloed with holy light.
Flame lit on their hair,
And their burning eyes grew young and wise,
as a God, or King of kings,
White-robed and bright
(Still scribbling all);
And a full tumultuous murmur of
Grew through the hall;
And I knew the white undying Fire,
And, through open portals,
Gyre on gyre,
and angels, adoring, bowing,
And a Face unshaded . . .
Till the light faded;
And they were but fools again,
Still scribbling, blear-eyed and stolid immortals.