He might have dreamed on the far faint hills—but he walked in the Main Street.
He knelt down with his fellows, in the warm faith of the throng;
He went forth with his fellows to fight a monstrous Wrong;
He marched away to the true tune that the hearts of brave men beat,
Shoulder to brown shoulder, with the men in the Main Street.
A road runs bright through the night of Time, since ever the world began,
The wide Way of the White Souls, the Main Street of Man,
The sky-road of the star-souls, beyond all wars and scars;
And there the singing soul of him goes on with the marching stars.
So, as I stand in the summer night, when the hosts of heaven seem nigh,