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?