O voice the angels kissed when unbreathed yet! 
 O lips made spiritual with uttering it! 
 O eyes wild with the lust of the divine 
 In thy felt presence, making thee its shrine! 
 O that this moment of thee were Thyself! 
 That thou ne’er fell'st from this Thou, and the pelf 
 Of gathered days with avarice of living, 
 Touched thee not from this moment of God's giving! 
 O eternal actuality of thee! 
 O by thy voice sculptured immutably 
 In some stone‑flesh of spirit! O set free 
 From being all contained in being seen! 
 O firmament of joy purely serene 
 With spaciousness of soul and stars of song 
 Above thyself, God's human heights among!