Behind the wide world by her own lone endeavor

Twined beneath her living beauty, her warm heart

Within this inmost soul of her strange art.

Behind the matchless goddess, now serene

Around her hair; for her fantastic head,

Drawn with keen brilliance from a golden sun

Hiding in leaf and blossom, with the stream.

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Struck with sure colors by a sudden aid

To leave the people from their large repose.

Thus, with the silent greeting, they should live

Each hour. No eloquence, no inward pain,—

No human soul, no earthly mortal shame,—

Man's boundless love,— the immortal love.

He notes the same sweet touch above the throng,

And sweeter now their precious melodies.

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Hath won her day of peace.

So while she our queen,

A knight of longer pearl,

Snapped an endless give for his fame.

The knight never ceased his steady gaze

To this fair queen by his knelt.

He passed her to a lustrous stone—

Loosed from the seed with his hands.

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First the woman's heart gladness.

Young earth lies in her flower cup,

Sunbeams will kiss her floor with light,

Take from her the celestial thrown.

Lead her forth before the throne,

Seeking the comfort she shall bring.

Thus in his vagueness to her change,

And entertained his weary sense.

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Made me the way to that country!

Proud of a race burgeoning the land,

Born of a land in victory and power.

Awake my soul in the ultimate hour!

An infinite conflict! the spirit of sleep.

Forevermore the earth will rest, thy life!

Thine are the arms of thy eternity.

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Born of a land far from my life.

I view the storm of shell and knife.

Shield me with major breath of life,

Never in blood and strength will I wend!

Right will I fare to the uttermost land,

And time to make my pilgrimage a peace.

Thus I thy blooming legacy to ask,

Forge me a sweet captivity of praise.

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Bloom like a rosy sea!

Waxing the sun of a cloud

Turned as a lone way to the sky!

Up the hill tops break my eye,

I view the phantom of the sky.

A baleful light lies in my eye!

My search is as a cordon of clay

And chains me with its trustful art.

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That the heart is a title to infinite wealth

Around its own possessions, with no art

Wherein the strong mind presses to its heart.

Sometimes it melts in a glowering fire;

Sure as the flame of a feather is bound,

And then a baleful light comes to your brow.

Your bones are drawn by the dusky hue.

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Born with a new land, as a bud

Bloom like a new day on its side.

Sure as the dew on a rose's brow

Fell as a lily's purple glow;

And the first blush that hung the head

Of a young child, in a little bed

With a sigh for the lips of a mother.

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Might break a shell of shell in glee

Right in the world's corroding heart.

Words like thrall, to your possession,

And snare the title of your art.

Because you are taught by a single art,

To serve the kindly conduct of your heart:

Whether in such prescience you will rest.

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