And stilled you too, ethereal surges

13．you, token of unearthly life,

Breath of a transcendental clime,

14．you, dreams of sacred poetry!

Dreams from the sacred realm of rhyme.

1．Perhaps, for the world's good

Perchance the world would have saluted

2．or, at least, for glory he was born;

In him a savior or a sage;

3．his silenced lyre might have aroused

His ly-eye, now forever muted,

4．a resonant, uninterrupted ringing

Might have resounded down the age

5．throughout the ages. There awaited

In ceaseless thunder, and have fated

6．the poet, on the stairway of the world

Its bearer to be elevated

7．perhaps, a lofty stair.

To high rank on the worldly grade;

8．His martyred shade has carried

Or haply with his martyred shade

9．away with him, perhaps,

Some holy insight will they bury,

10．a sacred mystery, and for us

A gem, perchance, of wisdom choice,

11．dead is a life-creating voice,

Now perished with his vital voice.

12．and to his shade beyond the tomb's confines

The hymn of ages will