Urania's Lover. Poem by Robert Crawford

O poet, thou art called to tread her ways,
Hers, mistress of the soul, Urania fair.
(Ah God! how fair, how all adorable,
But those who have wooed her can tell!)
All of thy nights and days,
All of thy light and air,
Hers only, so thy soul shall haply win
Grace in those eyes
That goddess-wise
Smile in that heaven man's highest have enter'd in.
Thou'rt called to Love's high hest, soul-wooer thou
Of the divinest beauty man may know —
Soul-wooer and soul-winner, so thy feet
Fail not nor falter, so earth's cheat
Clip not thy burning brow
With its chill wreath, and so
Darken the heavenly light within the brain;
But let thy forehead be
Starred with pure poesy,
So thou to her high mystery attain.
Thy love a Goddess and her heaven thy home!
By the ethereal beauty in those eyes,
O poet! bless the loss of all things here
So but thy soul in that fine sphere,
Beloved of her, may roam
No more with wandering cries —
At last may bow before her face, and be,
Though woman-born, divine,
When all of hers is thine,
And thou a star of God's ascendency.
Ah! through that heaven shall not the wonder trail
Of thy first worship, like a comet's hair
Leagues on leagues floating from the flying star?
Shall not thy first faint steps afar
Move like a being pale
Amid the glory there
Up to the voiceless beauty of her brow,
As thou dost see, as 'twere,
Thy whole life with her there —
See from that height the depth where thou art now?