THE PALACE OF ART I BUILT my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. I said, 'O Soul, make merry and carouse, Dear soul, for all is well.' A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass, I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf 10 Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, Beneath brauch-work of costly sardonyx Sat smiling, babe in arm. Or in a clear-wall'd city on the sea, Or thronging all one porch of Paradise Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son And watch'd by weeping queens. Or hollowing one hand against his ear, 100 110 |