Idolatry

I wonder what He would have to say
Did He know that I worship Thee.
But what can clay worship but clay?
A monstrous being of fire and air
Is beyond our reach, too far away.
I worship Thine eyes because the sea
Surges in them, because Thou art fair.

I adore Thee, because I adore Earth.
I do not adore Him, who loves Heaven.
I think that Thou hast too much worth
To merit anything less than prayer.
In my heart a rebellion had birth,
And angels as in war have striven,
Since I saw Thee; for Thou art fair.

How can I worship dancing limbs
Rather than He, who has none at all?
Rather to say: how can I worship Him,
An unchanging patch of voiceless air,
Rather than Thee? Thy Will and Whim
Mean more to me than the Fall
Must have meant to Eve; Thou art fair.

No, worship of Beauty is never sane;
Wilt Thou tell me, what worship ever was?
To laugh in mingled pleasure and pain,
To chant and dance and cry out in prayer,
To think that the snow, and sun, and rain,
Were made for some useful, rational cause,
Is madness. But Thou? Thou art fair.

At least Thy fairness, that I can see,
And miracles that long ago were ash,
If they ever came to Earth at all to be,
Are no more to me than voiceless air.
Thou art the realization of Divinity,
Thine hair's wash and Thine eyes' cloudy flash;
Thou art Beauty, because Thou art fair.

Love and Beloved, Bridegroom Thou Art,
Thou the Divinity I wanted to find.
And Thine is the passion, the Burning Heart,
The inspiration and governance of prayer.
From Thy Beauty never must I part;
And perhaps He, if He existed, would mind.
But Thou Art Beauty; Fair, Thou Art Fair!