Classic Poem

Down the ages comes a sound grown dark
With unremember'd meaning. Many heard
Fall from the lips of One illum'd a word
Whose doubtful gospel seem'd to quench all spark
Of separate love and joy, with promise stark,
If from their patient hearts still undeterr'd
They rooted all desire—the boon conferr'd
Should be to pass from Life without a mark.

Old devotees, dream on! Old scholars nod
Over the meaning of the Indian sage!
But I, awakening in a later age,
Choose not the deserts where His saints have trod,
Nor cleave to ancient rites or holy page;
Singing on my careless way to God.