Day

In day from some titanic past it seems

As if a thread divine of memory runs;

Born ere the Mighty One began his dreams,

Or yet were stars and suns.

But here an iron will has fixed the bars;

Forgetfulness falls on earth's myriad races:

No image of the proud and morning stars

Looks at us from their faces.

Yet yearning still to reach to those dim heights,

Each dream remembered is a burning-glass,

Where through to darkness from the Light of Lights

Its rays in splendour pass.

Notes: First Published in the Irish Theosophist September 15, 1893.