Israfel

8Tottering above

9 In her highest noon,

10 The enamoured Moon

11Blushes with love,

12 While, to listen, the red levin

13 (With the rapid Pleiads, even,

14 Which were seven),

15 Pauses in Heaven.

16And they say (the starry choir

17 And the other listening things)

18That Israfeli's fire

19Is owing to that lyre

20 By which he sits and sings —

21The trembling living wire

22Of those unusual strings.

23But the skies that angel trod,

24 Where deep thoughts are a duty —

25Where Love's a grow-up God —

26 Where the Houri glances are

27Imbued with all the beauty

28 Which we worship in a star.

29Therefore, thou art not wrong,

30 Israfeli, who despisest

31An unimpassioned song;

32To thee the laurels belong,

33 Best bard, because the wisest!

34Merrily live and long!

35The ecstasies above

36 With thy burning measures suit —

37Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,

38 With the fervor of thy lute —

39 Well may the stars be mute!

40Yes, Heaven is thine; but this

41 Is a world of sweets and sours;

42 Our flowers are merely — flowers,

43And the shadow of thy perfect bliss

44 Is the sunshine of ours.

45If I could dwell

46Where Israfel

47 Hath dwelt, and he where I,

48He might not sing so wildly well

49 A mortal melody,

50While a bolder note than this might swell

51 From my lyre within the sky.