I am the mote in the sunbeam

“I am the mote in the sunbeam,
and I am the burning Sun,Rest here?

I whisper the atom,
I call to the orb, “Roll on!

“I am the blush of the morning,
and I am the evening breeze;

I am the leaf’s low murmur,
the swell of the terrible seas.

The lover’s passionate pleading,
the maiden’s whispered fears;

The warrior, the blade that strikes him,
his mother’s heart wrung fear.

The rose, her poet nightingale,
the songs from the throat that rise,

The flint, the sparks, the taper,
the moth that about it flies.

I am intoxication, grapes,
winepress and musk, and wine,

The guest, the host, the traveller,
the goblet of crystal fine.