Sonnet Xvii: Poem by George Henry Boker

XVII

Too full of rapture was this sunny day!
My senses ache from that through which they passed:
Immortal joys were prodigally cast
Upon a mortal nature. In dismay
I felt my spirit cower, my trembling clay
At the divine effulgence shrank aghast.
My heart now paused, now shuddered; and the vast
Dim clouds of death seemed rising in my way.
O Heaven, I whispered, if my soul must dare
These awful joys, take hence this shivering clod,
Release my essence from the dress I wear
And lay my earth beneath its primal sod!
For heavenly bliss is more than man can bear,
And I must die, or here become a god.