I REACH my arms up to the sky,
And golden vine on vine
Of sunlight showered wild and high
Around my brows I twine.
I wreathe, I wind it everywhere, —
The burning radiancy
Of brightness that no eye may dare, —
To be the strength of me.
Come, redness of the crystalline;
Come, green; come hither, blue And violet, — all alive within;
For I have need of you!
Come, honey hue and flush of gold,
And through the pallor run
With pulse on pulse of manifold
New ichor of the Sun.
Oh, steep the silence till it sing!
O glories from the height,
Come down, where I am garlanding
With light a child of light!
Josephine Preston Peabody.