ARARAT

What marvel that the soul of youth should cry,

“Man builds his temples‘ tween me and the face

Of Him whom I would seek; I cannot trace

His purpose in their shadow, nor descry

The wisdom absolute?” What marvel that,

With yearning impotent, ay, impotent

Beyond all measure! his full faith was spent,

And for his soul there rose no Ararat?

Yet out upon the sun-drawn sensate sea

Of elemental pain, there came a word

As if from Him who travelled Galilee,

As fair as any Zion ever heard.

The voice of Love spoke; Love, that writes its name

On Life and Death-and then my lady came.