The Pavilions of Heaven

"And after many a summer dies the swan..."
- Alfred Lord Tennyson



Ye grand and garish parlors thatched with gold
Beyond the fragrant blooms of flowery gates;
Ye stately palaces, and proud estates
Wherein the foot spurns clouds of silver dust
From washen tiles of pearl and amethyst;
Through orient halls above thee, to the east,
Phoebus, the golden, draws his chariot!

Ye trees, whose boughs are affluent with leaves
More bright than polished glass in sunlit waters;
Ye hills and valleys cleft of emerald
Through which, like amber foaming overbold,
Rills move like moonlight on a diamond chip;
O Heaven! Nymph and Fay, and sylvan wight
Upon thy swards are gathered, hip to hip.

Ye cloud towers, paler than the sharpest star
"In the abode where the eternal are ",
Poised on the topmost pinnacle of night;
Ye up-piled mountains, grappling with the light,
Whose masonry provokes the praise of kings;
Quietly the kingdoms over which thou seest
Lie in the breadth of the Almighty's wings.

And they are blest who trespass into Heaven,
By His allowance, and Eternity's.
Through airy mansions, wrought of priceless stuffs,
Scented with fair and fragrant tapestries,
Theirs is unequaled transport, who, for Faith,
Forgo the dark, ignoble halls of Death
And nobler move to populate the skies.

Drunk of the honey, and the manna-dew,
Drunk of the milk of immortality,
The changeless eras into eons pass,
Passing anon, anon, for Heaven's glass
Is ne'er an empty vessel, but is turned
Over and over, time and time again -
For such is the reward of faithful men.


Mid to late 80's