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TO ONE AFAR.
O strong and pure of soul!—O earnest-hearted!
Like stranger-pilgrims at some way-side shrine
Have we two met, and mingled faith, and parted,—
Thy pathway leading far away from mine.
O strong and pure of soul!—O earnest-hearted!
Like stranger-pilgrims at some way-side shrine
Have we two met, and mingled faith, and parted,—
Thy pathway leading far away from mine.
The soul of ancient song is round thee swelling,
To triumph-marches leading on the hours;
Thy life hath templed shades, where gods are dwelling,
Where founts Castalian play among the flowers.
To triumph-marches leading on the hours;
Thy life hath templed shades, where gods are dwelling,
Where founts Castalian play among the flowers.
But faintly may the voices of the ages
Come to my yearning but imperfect sense,—
The strength of heroes and the lore of sages,
The fire of song, the storm of eloquence.
Come to my yearning but imperfect sense,—
The strength of heroes and the lore of sages,
The fire of song, the storm of eloquence.
