Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair

Chief of organic Numbers!     Old Scholar of the Spheres!     Thy spirit never slumbers,     But rolls about our ears     For ever and for ever.     O, what a mad endeavour     Worketh he     Who, to thy sacred and ennobled hearse,     Would offer a burnt sacrifice of verse     And Melody!     How heavenward thou soundedst     Live Temple of sweet noise;     And discord unconfoundedst:     Giving delight new joys,     And Pleasure nobler pinions     O where are thy Dominions!     Lend thine ear     To a young delian oath aye, by thy soul,     By all that from thy mortal Lips did roll;     And by the Kernel of thine earthly Love,     Beauty, in things on earth and things above,     When every childish fashion     Has vanish'd from my rhyme     Will I grey-gone in passion     Give to an after-time     Hymning and harmony     Of thee, and of thy Words and of thy Life:     But vain is now the bruning and the strife     Pangs are in vain until I grow high-rife     With Old Philosophy     And mad with glimpses at futurity!     For many years my offerings must be hush'd:     When I do speak I'll think upon this hour,     Because I feel my forehead hot and flush'd,     Even at the simplest vassal of thy Power,     A Lock of thy bright hair!     Sudden it came,     And I was startled when I heard thy name     Coupled so unaware     Yet, at the moment, temperate was my blood:     Methought I had beheld it from the flood.