Silent amidst unbroken silence deep
Of dateless years, in loneliness supreme,
She pondered patiently one mighty theme,
And let the hours, uncounted, by her creep.
The motionless Himalayas, the broad sweep
Of glacial cataracts, great Ganges’ stream—
All these to her were but as things that seem,
Doomed all to pass, like phantoms viewed in sleep.
Her history? She has none—scarce a name.
The life she lived is lost in the profound
Of time, which she despised; but nothing mars
The memory that, single, gives her fame—
She dreamed eternal dreams, and from the ground
Still raised her yearning vision to the stars.