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Poem	WHO would think this quiet breather From the world had taken flight? Yet within the form we see there Wakes the Golden King to-night. Out upon the face of faces He looked forth before his sleep: Now he knows the starry races Haunters of the ancient deep. On the Bird of Diamond Glory Floats in mystic floods of song: As he lists Time’s triple story Seems but as a day is long. From the mightier Adam falling To his image dwarfed in clay, He will at our voices calling Come to this side of the day. When he wakes, the dreamy-hearted, He will know not whence he came, And the light from which he parted Be the seraph’s sword of flame, And behind it hosts supernal Guarding the lost paradise, And the tree of life eternal From the weeping human eyes.
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