And yonder maidens, musing in delight,
I know not, love not, till, in sacrifice,
My spirit seems to yield to their desires,
To wait a watchful servant unto them,
To move with motives that inspire their deeds,
To look through their own eyes and see their views,
And thrill with rhythm when their ear-drums throb;
Then, joining all with all, imagine thus
The movements of their hidden inner moods.
Thus too, through all of life, how know we more?