Daphne

No living soul escapes the Love Divine
     Whether it climbs the steps, or cleave the hollows
     Of more, or less, where huge behemoth wallo
In the wide wilderness of weltering brine.
Or the dim monad trembles on the line
     ‘Twixt blank and being; God, the life light, follows
     And fugitive Daphne’s love yet crowns Apollo’s
In flashing laurel, his immortal sign.
Pale son of Phoebus, Poet, like thy Sire,
     With arms of yearning that sweep far adown
     And up as high to seek some answering tone
Through all the octaves of his golden lyre,
     In the green garland of thy best renown
Relenting love becomes thy everlasting crown