“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 leafâ€™s low murmur,
the swell of the terrible seas.
The loverâ€™s passionate pleading,
the maidenâ€™s whispered fears;
The warrior, the blade that strikes him,
his motherâ€™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.