Oh, deep in the shadowy vales that lie In the silent reaches of my soul, In thy solitudes, O my soul, Live the wraiths of the Hopes of the self that I Know as myself, yet unknown to the whole Of the doubting, shallow world. And when, in my nature's wearied hours, I seek in an introspective mood Those cloistered haunts for my spirit's food, Come those wraiths at my call with their God-born powers, And I am a god in a realm of good, Unknown to a finite world. |