The Ideal

The night is dark and warm and very still,
Only the moon goes pallid and alone;
The moon and I the whole wide heavens fill,
And all the earth lies little, lost, unknown.

I walk along the byways of my Soul,
Beyond the streets where all the world may go,
Until at last I reach the hidden goal
Built up in strength where only I may know.

For in my Soul a temple have I made,
Set on a height, divine and steep and far,
Nor often may I hope those floors to tread,
Or reach the gates that glimmer like a star.

O secret, inner shining of my dream,
How clear thou risest on my soul to-night!
Forth will I fare and seek the heavenly beam,
And stand within the precincts of the light.

And I will press beyond the curtain'd door,
And up the empty aisle where no one sings;
There will I fall before thee and adore,
And feel the shadowy winnowing of thy wings.

So will I reach thee, Spirit; for I have known
Thy voice, and looked upon thy blinding eyes;
And well thou knowest the world to me is grown
One dimness whence thy dreamy beacons rise.

Nor ask I any hope nor any end,
That thus for thee I dream all day, all night;
But, like the moon along the skies, I wend,
Knowing no world below my borrowed light.