More than motes that thronged and trembled
in the brief noon's breath and beam.
Some with crying and wailing, some
with notes like sound of bells that toll,
Some with sighing and laughing, some
with words that blessed and made us whole,
Passed, and left us, and we know not
what they were, nor what were we.
Would we know, being mortal? Never
breath of answering whisper stole
From the shore that hath no shore
beyond it set in all the sea.

Shadows, would we question darkness?
Ere our eyes and brows be fanned
Round with airs of twilight, washed
with dews from sleep's eternal stream,
Would we know sleep's guarded secret?
Ere the fire consume the brand,
Would it know if yet its ashes
may requicken? yet we deem
Surely man may know, or ever
night unyoke her starry team,
What the dawn shall be, or if
the dawn shall be not, yea, the scroll
Would we read of sleep's dark scripture,
pledge of peace or doom of dole.
Ah, but here man's heart leaps, yearning
toward the gloom with venturous glee,
Though his pilot eye behold