A gleam too blurred for guidance to the dark,
Shifting caprice of red and blue and gold
Flickering wanly from the troubled spark;
And other times a curl of azure smoke,
Like the last puff of incense that is seen
To vanish from the brazier, rose to cloak
The light until I feared it never had been.
But now the crystal-clear white globe of peace
Has closed my spirit in, that it may burn
Steadily to the stars, and henceforth cease