O Mystic Wings

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Title:     O Mystic Wings
Author: Gilbert Parker [More Titles by Parker]

O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now,
Beyond life's faithful labour to a seat
Where I can feel the end of things complete,
Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow.

O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth
Makes atmosphere of purity and power;
'Tis man's breath kills the spring's soft-petaled flower--

Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth.

Ye give a value for all loss in age,
When feebled eyes search for forgotten springs;
Ye fan the breeze that turns the moulded page,

And carry back the soul to ardent things.
Poor payment can I give, but here engage
I thee to be Love's airy equipage.

[The end]
Gilbert Parker's poem: O Mystic Wings

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