Downlooking on the stream of Fate,
So high thou sweepest in thy flight,
Thou knowest not of pride or hate,
But gazing from thy lark-like height,
Forth o’er the waters of To be,
The first gleam of Truth’s morning light
Round thy broad forehead floweth bright,
My Pallas-like Callirhöe.
Thy mouth is Wisdom’s gate, wherefrom,
As from the Delphic cave,