I reach my arms up, to the sky,
And golden vine on vine
Of sunlight showered wild and high,
Around my brows I twine.
I wreathe, I wind it everywhere,
The burning radiancy
Of brightness that no eye may dare,
To be the strength of me.
Come, redness of the crystalline,
Come green, come hither blue
And violet—all alive within,
For I have need of you.
Come honey-hue and flush of gold,
And through the pallor run,
With pulse on pulse of manifold
New largess of the Sun!
O steep the silence till it sing!
O glories from the height,
Come down, where I am garlanding
With light, a child of light!