Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.

The year is dying in the night.

Silence, beautiful voice.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.

In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.

O last regret, regret can die!