The sun and starlight of the lonely dawn.
3
I cannot watch this dawn with humble eyes,
Feel the wind on my forehead, and not feel
My genius and my destiny reveal
Themselves unto the surge of that surmise,
Nor with a humdrum and dust-worn surprise
Can I unveil the λόγος you conceal,
Or praise the Potter or the Potter’s wheel
For having made the beautiful that dies.