Classic Poem

I THINK between my cradle-bars
Of a summer night there fell to me
Some pale religion of the stars,
While an old Moon lookt weirdly
At me thro' an apple-tree
And fixt my faith in a fair One
Fading out of memory:
But I would that I knew where my Lord is gone!

Things there are by night I know
That in the day I ne'er detect:
Stars that shine from long ago
Until bewildered I suspect
The obvious World is not correct,
And fear to lean too much upon
The showings of mere intellect:
But I would that I knew where my Lord is gone!

In my own fashion I persist:
No counsel of despair I brook:
Neither for priest nor pessimist,
Nor the jealous God nor his black Book:
My early faith I've not forsook
For the low things that pass anon:
With eyes unspoiled to the stars I look—
But I would that I knew where my Lord is gone!

And caring less how the World esteems
Me or my doing I go on
With incommunicable dreams—
But I would that I knew where my Lord is gone!