THE PROEM
Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone,
O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost.
What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost
Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone!
Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own.
If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost!
What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed,
To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown!