The Bather.

Standing here alone,

Let me pause awhile,

Drinking in the light

Ere, with plunge of white limbs prone,

I raise the sparkling flight

Of foam-flakes volatile.

Now, in natural guise,

I woo the deathless breeze,

Through me rushing fleet

The joy of life, in swift surprise:

I grow with growing wheat,

And burgeon with the trees.

Lo! I fetter Time,

So he cannot run;

And in Eden again -

Flash of memory sublime! -

Dwell naked, without stain,

Beneath the dazed sun.

All yields brotherhood;

Each least thing that lives,

Wrought of primal spores,

Deepens this wild sense of good

That, on these shaggy shores,

Return to nature gives.

Oh, that some solitude

Were ours, in woodlands deep,

Where, with lucent eyes,

Living lithe and limber-thewed,

Our life's shape might arise

Like mountains fresh from sleep!

To sounds of water falling,

Hosts of delicate dreams

Should lull us and allure

With a dim, enchanted calling,

Blameless to live and pure

Like these sweet springs and streams.

But in a wilderness

Alone may such life be?

Why of all things framed,

In my human form confessed

Should I be ashamed,

And blush for honesty?

Rounded, strengthy limbs

That knit me to my kind -

Your glory turns to grief!

Shall I for my soul sing hymns,

Yet for my body find

No clear, divine belief?

Let me rather die,

Than by faith uphold

Dogmas weak that dare

The form that once Christ wore deny

Afraid with him to share

A purity twofold;

Yet, while sin remains

On this saddened earth,

Humbly walk my ways!

For my garments are as chains;

And I fear to praise

My frame with careless mirth.

Joy and penance go

Hand in hand, I see!

Would I could live so well,

Soul of me should never know

When my coverings fell,

Nor feel this nudity!