THOU ART A glimmer of gold from the dawn on my life's shore, a dew-drop on the first white flower of autumn. Thou art a rainbow from the distant sky bending o'er the dust, a dream of the crescent moon touched with a white cloud, thou art a secret of paradise revealed by chance to the earth. Thou art my poet's vision, appearing from the days of my forgotten birth, thou art the word that is never for utterance, a freedom that comes in the form of a bondage, for thou openest the door for me to the beauty of a living light.
I KNOW THAT the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes. Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains. When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives. Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got-let them pass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked.
