Dimly beheld, thou excellent...

By Theodore Harding Rand

Dimly beheld, thou excellent,

Ideal of grace!‘ tis ravishment

To breathe thy atmosphere, O Beauty,

Whene'er thou stirr'st in thy greening tent.

I cannot see thee as thou art,

Nor trace thy goings but in part;

O dearer thus, like starry music

Half heard, that thrills with its string my heart.

If thou shouldst part thy sheeny veil

And strike thy fires, my heart would quail

Beneath the eye of naked glory,

The molten sun, as the moon, be pale.