Although the soul, I know,
One day unveiled shall be,
Think not it shall be so
By writhing endlessly.

It needs a blow, to stir
The sleeping soul from earth
Unswept, the harp can ne’er
Bring melody to birth.

Thy cup replenish still
With tears and midnight sighs,
Replenish it until
The radiant sun shall rise.

So faint a mote thou art,
I fear thou’lt vanish quite;
Then fortify thy heart
To meet the morning light.

Transcend the dust, nor take
Thy self but dust to be;
If thou thy breast with break,
The moon shall shine from thee.

If in thy face they lock
The gate to selfhood’s shrine,
Strike head upon the rock
And see the ruby shine.