As we go star-stilled in the mystic garden, All the prose of this life run there to rhyme, How eagerly then will the poor heart pardon All of these hurts of Time! Ah, yes, in that hour of our souls dream-driven, In that high, white hour, O my wild sea-bride, The tears and the years will be all forgiven, … And all be justified.

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Our ways go wide and I know not whither, But my song will search through the worlds for you, Till the Seven Seas waste and the Seven Stars wither, And the dream of the heart comes true. I am out to the roads and the long, long questing, On dark tides driven, on great winds blown: I pass the runs of the world, unresting, I sail to the unknown.

If this is a dream, then perhaps our dreaming Can touch life's height to a finer fire: Who knows but the heavens and all their seeming Were made by the heart's desire? One thing shines clear in the heart's sweet reason, One lightning over the chasm runs — That to turn from love is the world's one treason That darkens all the suns.

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We are caught in the coil of a God's romances — We come from old worlds and we go afar: I have missed you again in the Earth's wild chances — Now to another star! Perhaps we are led and our loves are fated, And our steps are counted one by one; Perhaps we shall meet and our souls be mated, After the burnt-out sun. For over the world a dim hope hovers, The hope at the heart of all our songs — That the banded stars are in league with lovers, And fight against their wrongs.

It was ages ago in life's first wonder I found you, Virgilia, wild sea-heart; And 'twas ages ago that we went asunder, Ages and worlds apart. Your luminous face and your hair's dark glory, I knew them of old by an ocean-stream, In a far, first world now turned to story, Now faded back to dream.

Come, clear the way, then, clear the way: Blind creeds and kings have had their day. Break the dead branches from the path; Our hope is in the aftermath — Our hope is in heroic men, Star-led to build the world again. To this Event the ages ran: Make way for Brotherhood — make way for Man.

The crest and crowning of all good,
Life’s final star, is Brotherhood; For it will bring again to Earth Her long-lost Poesy and Mirth; Will send new light on every face, A kingly power upon the race. And till it come, we men are slaves, And travel downward to the dust of graves.

O masters, lords and rulers in all lands How will the Future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings — With those who shaped him to the thing he is — When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world. After the silence of the centuries?

Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; Time's tragedy is in the aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned, and disinherited, Cries protest to the Powers that made the world. A protest that is also a prophecy.