In the market I bought and sold, in the temple I bowed my head,
I had swathed me in shows and forms, and was honoured above the rest
For the sake of the life I lived; nor did any esteem me dead.
But at last, when the hour was ripe—was it sudden-remembered word?
Was it sight of a bird that mounted, or sound of a strain that stole?
I was ware of a spell that snapped, of an inward strength that stirred,
Of a Presence that filled that place; and it shone, and I knew my Soul.
And the dream I had called my life was a garment about my feet,
For the web of the years was rent with the throe of a yearning strong.
With a sweep as of winds in heaven, with a rush as of flames that meet,