I did not bid my purpose kneel,
Nor thine retire: I probe the scar
Of self, the goddess keen and real
Supreme within the naked wheel
Of sun and moon and star and star,
And find her but the ambient coil,
Imagination’s avatar,
A Buddha on his nenuphar
Elaborate of Indian toil ;
A mockery of a self; outrun
Its days and dreams, its strength and spoil,
As runs the conquering counterfoil.
Thou art not; thou the moon and sun,
Thou the sole star in trackless night,
The unguessed spaces one by one
That mask their Sphinx, the horizon :
Thou, these; and one above them, light,
Light of the inmost heaven and hell :—
Art changed and fallen and lost to sight,
Who wast as waters of delight.
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