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Title: Heaven
Author: Edward Doyle [
More Titles by Doyle]
Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light
Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound.
What we call senses here, there so abound,
The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight,
Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white
Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound!
For every moment there, new Heavens astound
The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might.
If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?"
Be the one chant of angel and of Saint
Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint
Between their transports to high Heavens from lower;
For, what is love's eternal Firmament
But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar?
[The end]
Edward Doyle's poem: Heaven
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