The Truth that has run so many torch-lit races,
Shone suddenly on me,
And henceforth was to be
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, soul of my soul, unto that last far dawn which is eternity.
Our souls were worn like a gaunt dungeon-keep
Washed by the sea; we sowed not, nor did reap;
Our Gods were on a journey or asleep;—
When like a surging fire
A spirit from earth’s ages did suspire,
And each soul’s tower put forth leaves and blossomed,