Five Prayers

TO taste  
 Wild wine of the mountain-spring, fresh, living, strong,  
 Running and rushing like a triumph-song  
 Round hearts new-braced:  
 
To smell  
 A growing cowslip, some glad morn of Spring,  
 And breathe the breath of every fragrant thing  
 From every bell:  
 
To touch  
 A sliding wavelet, supple, smooth and thin,—  
 Just ere the pois’d and perfect crests begin  
 To bend too much:  
 
To hear  
 Amid May twilight, by the murmuring sea,  
 Some blackbird warbling from a budded tree,  
 Tender and clear:  
 
To see  
 Down young rose-petals how the deepening light  
 Glides gradually, till, somewhere out of sight,  
 What light must be!—  
 
O Thou, intense  
 Rapture of Beauty! All-pervading Lord!  
 Is not this worship? So art Thou ador’d  
 By every sense