IX

As each man gained on each, securely!—how

Each by his own strength sought his own ideal,

      The ultimate Perfection leaning bright

From out the sun and stars, to bless the leal

      And earnest search of all for Fair and Right,

Through the dim forms, by earth accounted real!

      Because old Jubal blew into delight

The souls of men, with dear-piped melodies,

      What if young Asaph were content at most

To draw from Jubal's grave, with listening eyes,

      Traditionary music's floating ghost

Into the grass-grown silence? were it wise?

      Is it not wiser, Jubal's breath being lost,

That Miriam dashed her cymbals to surprise

      The sun between her white arms flung apart,

With new, glad, golden sounds? that David's strings

      O'erflowed his hand with music from his heart?

So harmony grows full from many springs,

      And happy accident turns holy art.