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!