I hear the pinions creak Of night-birds, beating by; And lost hyaenas shriek Unto the spectral sky.
The Stars, immortal Sons Of God, are full of fire; But we, rejected ones, Know heav’n but in desire.
My Soul said, ‘Art thou dead? The chasm of night is riv’n; What dost thou see?’ I said, ‘The full-fired fires of heav’n.’
‘Look not but see,’ he said. I said, ‘I know not whether They are the hosts of God Clashing their spears together.
So bright the stars appear Their splendour smokes in heav’n; I think indeed I hear Their distant voices ev’n.’
He said, ‘See not but know.’ I said, ‘I cannot see; I think perhaps they go To some great victory.’
He said, ‘For ever they go, Still onward, on and on; And that is why they know The victory’s clarion.’
I said, ‘I am too weak To do more than I must.’ He said, ‘Then cease to seek And perish in the dust.’
Bound in misfortune’s bands, Blindfold and brought to nought, I would reach out my hands And touch eternal thought.
I cannot choose but try Behind these prison bars To measure earth and sky And know the whole of stars;
And what I rede I write, Vain visions as they rise, Vain visions of the night, Unworthy others’ eyes.
I said, ‘Tho’ dungeon’d here In these deep dens of night, My soul shall persevere To seek supernal light;
Untainted Truth to know From that fair face of Lies Whose heav’nly features glow Like Truth’s, save in the eyes;
Till, after all these years, The wisdom come unsought To see the stars as spheres And sound the bounds of thought.’
I hold with them who see Nor only idly stand The deed of thought to be Worth many deeds of hand.
Ever as we journey sink The old behind the new, And Heav’n commands we think As justly as we do.
One golden virtue more Than virtue we must prize, One iron duty more Than duty, to be wise.
Who to himself hath said, ‘This chamber must be closed; This tract of truth I dread, This darkness God-imposed
May not be lifted,’ keeps An ever-open door Thro’ which deception creeps, Confounding more and more,
Until to wild extremes Of falsehood driv’n he dies, Intoxicate with dreams And drunk with a thousand lies.
And more if he have taken A secret lie for friend, He shall be found forsaken, And terrible his end.
So one doth travelling ride; A dreadful forest fears; Rejoiced at length a guide He meeteth unawares.