The speaker describes a moment of awed stillness, standing silent before something too delicate and luminous for language. Those “prismic gossamers” feel like thin, rainbow-tinted threads or images drifting just past the edge of inner understanding—beyond the “sky-line of the soul.” The repetition of “We stand mute!” at the beginning and end creates a hushed, almost prayerful frame. There is no frustration in this silence; it feels more like reverence. The mood is quiet, weightless, and contemplative, as if the mind has touched something fragile and beautiful that words would only break. It asks the reader to accept that some perceptions are felt rather than spoken.
Contemplation — Summary
We stand mute! No words can paint such fragile imagery, Those prismic gossamers that roll Beyond the sky-line of the soul; We stand mute!