IX. IRIS

Light to the eye and Music to the ear,—

These are the builders of the bridge that springs

From earths's dim shore of half-remembered things

To reach the spirit's home, the heavenly sphere

Where nothing silent is and nothing dark.

So when I see the rainbow's arc

Spanning the showery sky, far-off I hear

Music, and every colour sings:

And while the symphony builds up its round

Full sweep of architectural harmony

Above the tide of Time, far, far away I see

A bow of colour in the bow of sound.

Red as the dawn the trumpet rings,

Imperial purple from the trombone flows,

The mellow horn melts into evening rose.

Blue as the sky, the choir of strings

Darkens in double-bass to ocean's hue,

Rises in violins to noon-tide's blue,

With threads of quivering light shot through and through.

Green as the mantle that the summer flings

Around the world, the pastoral reeds in time

Embroider melodies of May and June.

Yellow as gold,

Yea, thrice-refined gold,

And purer than the treasures of the mine,

Floods of the human voice divine

Along the arch in choral song are rolled.

So bends the bow complete:

And radiant rapture flows

Across the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet,

That the uplifted spirit hardly knows

Whether the Music-Light that glows

Within the arch of tones and colours seven

Is sunset-peace of earth, or sunrise-joy of Heaven.