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WHAT all men think
‘Tis mine to say;
To me the dark
Is as the day,
To-morrow is as yesterday.
Where men are blind
I only see;
Dumb mouth, deaf ears
Are naught to me;
It is enough alone to be.
What all men dream
I realize;
And mortals wait
Till their dead eyes
Open upon the great surprise.
Of my vast height
The poets rhyme;
With feeble feet
They vainly climb,
With tired steps, my steep of time.
Where men believe
‘Tis mine to know;
Mine are the peaks
That burn and glow,
With their volcanoes in the snow,
Mine is the soul
Of fire; lit
By the unknown;
But out of it
Upon the heart the known is writ.
This work was published before January 1, 1927, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.