The Veil before the mystery of things
Shall stir for him with iris and with light;
Chaos shall have no terror in his sight
Nor earth a bond to chafe his urgent wings;
With sandals beaten from the crown of kings
He shall tread down the altars of their night,
And stand with Silence on her breathless height,
To hear what song the star of morning sings.
With perished beauty in his hands as clay,
Shall he restore futurity its dream.