He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
As the swift seasons roll!
Year after year beheld the silent toil
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Till thou at length art free,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
That spread his lustrous coil;
Built up its idle door,
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
The venturous bark that flings
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—
Still, as the spiral grew,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
Before thee lies revealed,—
While on mine ear it rings,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Child of the wandering sea,
Sails the unshadowed main,—
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!
And every chambered cell,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
And coral reefs lie bare,