is one of the most
preposterous things in literature. But one must remember that the poor
king was merely a subject, a theme, with the poet.
As when the sun uprears himself among
The lesser dazzling substances, and drives
His eager steeds along the fervid curve,--
When in one only hue is painted all
The heavenly vault, and every other star
Is touched with pallor and doth veil its front,
So with sidereal splendor all aflame
Amid a thousand glad souls following,
High into heaven arose that beauteous soul.
Smiled, as he passed them, the majestical,
Tremulous daughters of the light, and shook
Their glowing and dewy tresses as they moved,
He among all with longing and with love
Beaming, ascended until he was come
Before the triune uncreated life;
There his flight ceases, there the heart, become
Aim of the threefold gaze divine, is stilled,
And all the urgence of desire is lost;
There on his temples he receives the crown
Of living amaranth immortal, on
His cheek the kiss of everlasting peace.
And then were heard consonances and notes
Of an ineffable sweetness, and the orbs
Began again to move their starry wheels.
More swiftly yet the steeds that bore the day
Exulting flew, and with their mighty tread,
Did beat the circuit of their airy way.
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