That leads our sea-worn hearts from strait to strait,
By night a fire and solace thro’ the cold;
Yet standing as this temple stands, a door
To worlds mysterious, to alien things,
And all the glory of the waiting gods!
Love! Love! It is the blue of bluest skies;
The farthest green of waters touched with sun!
It is the calm of Evening’s earliest star
And yet the tumult of most troubled tides!
It is the frail original of things,