The Heart: Two Sonnets

          I

The heart you hold too small and local thing,

Such spacious terms of edifice to bear.

And yet, since Poesy first shook out her wing,

The mighty Love has been impalaced there;

That has she given him as his wide demesne,

And for his sceptre ample empery;

Against its door to knock has Beauty been

Content; it has its purple canopy

A dais for the sovereign lady spread

Of many a lover, who the heaven would think

Too low an awning for her sacred head.

The world, from star to sea, cast down its brink--

  Yet shall that chasm, till He Who these did build

  An awful Curtius make Him, yawn unfilled.

          II

O nothing, in this corporal earth of man,

That to the imminent heaven of his high soul

Responds with colour and with shadow, can

Lack correlated greatness.  If the scroll

Where thoughts lie fast in spell of hieroglyph

Be mighty through its mighty habitants;

If God be in His Name; grave potence if

The sounds unbind of hieratic chants;

All's vast that vastness means.  Nay, I affirm

Nature is whole in her least things exprest,

Nor know we with what scope God builds the worm.

Our towns are copied fragments from our breast;

  And all man's Babylons strive but to impart

  The grandeurs of his Babylonian heart.