And the footsteps, lighter than the heart of wind,
Beat, now high, then low, before my dream-flaming eyes.
Dancing wild as a fire only to vanish away.”
Comes like the stir of the day:
One whose breath is an odor,
Whose eyes show the road to stars,
The breeze in his face,
The glory of heaven on his back.
He steps like a vision hung in air,
Diffusing the passion of eternity;
His abode is the sunlight of morn,
The music of his eve his speech:
In his sight
One shall turn from the dust of the grave,
And move upward to the woodland.