The Man-Soul

He made it pure—More pure than deep-sea water, or the dewDistilled in mountain hollows: made it trueAs heaven's o'er-arching blue,Or as that orb that doth the main secure,—The lonely mariner's guiding cynosure.He made it sweetAs lover's lips that meetFor the first time, with tremulous delight;Or as the tears that more than half requiteTheir pain after long parting: made it brave,Fearless of wind or wave;A tameless thing with aspiration filled,That dares where eagles may not nest, to build!