Who art thou that earnest

            Bearing the occult Name,
 Wings of regal darkness

            Eyes of an unborn flame?

Like the august uprising

Of a forgotten sun

Out of the caverned midnight

Fire-trails of wonder run.

Captured the heart renouncing

Tautness of passion-worn strings

Allows the wide-wayed sweetness

Of free supernal things.                         

One Day

THE LITTLE MORE

One day, and all the half-dead is done,

One day, and all the unborn begun;

A little path and the great goal,

A touch that brings the divine whole.

Hill after hill was climbed and now,

Behold, the last tremendous brow

And the great rock that none has trod:

A step, and all is sky and God.  

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