By George Sterling
O thou whose snows of body and of soul Compel I hold immaculate mine own, And live unsatisfied, and mourn alone Where sea-winds grieve and somber waters roll! O thou my beacon-light and single goal, Whose breast has been, whose breast shall be, my throne! O star upon the Future's night unknown! O dawn that comest, tho' the dark control! Thine are the quiet sessions of my heart, And thine the peaceless surgings of its fire. Nor may the solemn seraphim of Art Deny this love: thou too hast Heaven's youth— One thought of thee can make my soul aspire To all they serve of Beauty and of Truth!
Written in Carmel.