And while heaven’s harmony in lake and gold
Changed to a faint nocturne in silvern gray,
Like rising sea-mists from my spirit rolled
The grievous vapors of this Age of Clay,
Beholding Beauty’s re-arisen Shrine,
And the white glory of this precious loveliness of mine!
* * * * *
Haply in the far, the orient future,
In the dawn we herald like the birds,
Men shall read the legend of our meeting,