I HAVE FELT your muffled steps in my blood, Evermoving Past,
have seen your hushed countenance
in the heart of the garrulous day.
You have come to write the unfinished stories of our fathers in
unseen script on the pages of our destiny;
You lead back to life the unremembered designs
for the shaping of new images.
Is not the restless Present itself a crowd of your own visions
Flung up like a constellation from the abyss of dumb night?