Day by day the soul of things
Up its countless ladders springs,
Fleeting back to whence it came, —
Inviolate, etherial flame!
I have pierced its changing shapes,
Coils and turnings, deft escapes!
Up yon swaying shaft it stole,
Of the scarlet gladiole.
First, the lowest bud it caught,
And with fire its chalice fraught;
Then, with aspiration new,
To the bloom above withdrew.
Every flower, thus bereft,
Like a quenched brand was left, —
Quickly into ashes fell
When the Genius fled its cell!
On the morrow it will rest
In the topmost blossom-crest;
Waving thence its light adieus,
Some unseen way it pursues.
Airy pyramid of grass
At its motion yields a pass.
Through the wind-loved wheat it flows,
Up the tufted sedge-flower goes,
Scales the foxglove's leaning spire,
Fans the wild lobelia's fire,
Where beside the pool it flashes;
And the slender vervain's lashes,
By the climbing spirit swayed,
All their purple length unbraid.
Thus the soul of blooming things
Up its countless ladders springs.