They sleep within. . . .

　　I cower¹ to the earth， I waking， I only.

　　High and cold thou dreamest， O queen， high-dreaming and lonely.

　　We have slept too long， who can hardly win

　　The white one flame， and the night-long crying；

　　The viewless passers； the world's low sighing

　　With desire， with yearning²，

　　To the fire unburning，

　　To the heatless fire， to the flameless ecstasy³！ . . .

　　Helpless I lie.

　　And around me the feet of thy watchers tread.

　　There is a rumour⁴ and a radiance of wings above my head，

　　An intolerable radiance of wings. . . .

　　All the earth grows fire，

　　White lips of desire

　　Brushing cool on the forehead， croon slumbrous things.

　　Earth fades； and the air is thrilled with ways，

　　Dewy paths full of comfort. And radiant bands，

　　The gracious presence of friendly hands，

　　Help the blind one， the glad one， who stumbles and strays，

　　Stretching wavering hands， up， up， through the praise

　　Of a myriad⁵ silver trumpets⁶， through cries，

　　To all glory， to all gladness， to the infinite height，

　　To the gracious， the unmoving， the mother eyes，

　　And the laughter， and the lips， of light.