And on those days when my soul shakes
From surfeits of this life's concerns,
In far-off spheres shall shine one shape
Your distant palace, sunset-burned.
And with a shaking soul I strive,
To rest from life's wild squall and rain;
Yet happiness like this can't thrive,
So hard's your palace path to gain.
Thence comes a cold, illuming gleam,
A golden dome so radiant;
With access but for souls still free,
Undarken'd by vainglorious bent.
A spark that blinds but nothing more,
An unaccustomed sight and sheen;
And struck by suffering full-bore,
My wounded soul shall then retreat.
This soul shall live, this soul shall see
You waft across a distant grass;
If but more to despise and flee
The world and all its loathsome paths.