God of the meridian!
And of the east and west!
To thee my soul is flown,
And my body is earthward press’d:
It is an awful mission,
A terrible division,
And leaves a gulf austere
To be fill’d with worldly fear.
Aye, when the soul is fled
Too high above our head,
Affrighted do we gaze
After its airy maze –
As doth a mother wild
When her young infant child
Is in an eagle’s claws.
And is not this the cause
Of madness? – God of Song,
Thou bearest me along
Through sights I scarce can bear;
O let me, let me share
With the hot lyre and thee
The staid philosophy.
Temper my lonely hours
And let me see thy bowers
More unalarmed!
-John Keats