The Ideal
So will I reach thee, Spirit; for I have known
Thy voice, and looked upon thy blinding eyes;
And well thou knowest the world to me is grown
One dimness whence thy dreamy beacons rise.
Nor ask I any hope nor any end.
That thus for thee I dream all day, all night;
But, like the moon along the skies, I wend,
Knowing no world below my borrowed light.
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