Song of the wave / George Cabot Lodge [electronic text]

VII
NIRVANA

I

AND shall we find thee? Shall the tired soul Toiling in gross dull clay, doomed to abide In blurred oblivion, condemned to hide Its eager wings impatient of control, And God-lit eyes that yearn to view the whole Of that divinest splendour glorified In earth's rare visions—shall it feel the tide Of thy calm love in endless pity roll? Oh, let the inward vision drink the light Of thine effulgent countenance! Then might This immaterial dream of Thee and Me Dissolve away like moon-mists in the morn, And we could lapse in silence from the scorn Of Destiny to thy great unity.