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Poem	("Un jour, le morne esprit.") {Bk. VI. vii., Jersey, September, 1855.} One day, the sombre soul, the Prophet most sublime At Patmos who aye dreamed, And tremblingly perused, without the vast of Time, Words that with hell-fire gleamed, Said to his eagle: "Bird, spread wings for loftiest flight— Needs must I see His Face!" The eagle soared. At length, far beyond day and night, Lo! the all-sacred Place! And John beheld the Way whereof no angel knows The name, nor there hath trod; And, lo! the Place fulfilled with shadow that aye glows Because of very God. NELSON R. TYERMAN.
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