Counterparts

IF one in some far future should discover
The secret of the counterparts of things,
How bodiless, yet visible, they hover
On the dim verge where Form to Essence clings;
If one should find the hill-side and the river,
The viny ledges and the orchards fair,
The girdling wood, and over all aquiver
The voiceful blue and glory of the air
Just as we found them on those May-morns rare, —

Would all be phantoms? Would a breath undo them?
Would the dove sing, or we but dream he sang?
Would grasses hint where April rains dript through them ?
Would blossoms fall, or tranced in mid-air hang?
What if that were the base of this our dreaming?
The True, foreshadowed here on eye and heart,
The lovelier substance of this lovely seeming,
The golden Real, which, by some subtle art,
Builds its sweet semblance here, in counterpart?