The Highest Goal
Not for the Stage,—nay, thou art made for higher regions!
What hath the rose to say to lesser pale flower-legions?
What hath the stainless air
To say to wreaths of cloud that linger in the valley?
When round about thy path the gold-winged angels rally
Wilt thou be less than they, who art more fair?
Thou art a poet's love. Be worthy of thy poet.
Rise to thy woman's height: abjure not, nor forego it,
The whiteness of thy soul.
Lo! there are thousands left to seek the valley-fountains:
O deathless love of mine, be ours the lordly mountains
And ours the highest and the heavenliest goal.
What hath the rose to say to lesser pale flower-legions?
What hath the stainless air
To say to wreaths of cloud that linger in the valley?
When round about thy path the gold-winged angels rally
Wilt thou be less than they, who art more fair?
Thou art a poet's love. Be worthy of thy poet.
Rise to thy woman's height: abjure not, nor forego it,
The whiteness of thy soul.
Lo! there are thousands left to seek the valley-fountains:
O deathless love of mine, be ours the lordly mountains
And ours the highest and the heavenliest goal.
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