Like to a flock of birds, the flying days
Whirr in my ears, and leave no trace behind,
More than the swallow's through the cloven wind,
That shows not whence nor where her course she lays.
Between two mysteries, the narrow ways,
In which our fleeting moments are confined,
Lie through a night no vision can unbind,
No foot retrace, nor know to what it strays.
O God of love, I feel so weak and lone
Between these gulfs of darkness; reach thy hand,
And strike a fire within this heart of stone!
Give me an inner light that, like a brand,
May burn before me! Let thy dread command
Make plain the future; for the past is gone!