Is reared, and still with old names, fresh names vie,
Each to its proper praise and own account:
Men call the Flower the Sunflower, sportively.
II
Oh, Angel of the East, one, one gold look
Across the waters to this twilight nook,
—The far sad waters, Angel, to this nook!
III
Dear Pilgrim, art thou for the East indeed?
Go!—saying ever as thou dost proceed,