V

Thine be it to direct their steps aright Unto that bourne which doth not cease to haunt. They cry for it, not knowing what they want, Or what for man is best--the use of sight; Some inkling of the precious power of light, To glorify a mean existence gaunt, And check the bitter self-inflicted taunt That nothing worthy calls them home at night. And thou can’st set them questing, make them feel The nearness of true knowledge, where it lies In common things with which they daily deal, Yet ending in the Splendour of the skies; Or teach them in shunned volumes to detect The simplicity of letters unsuspect.

HESEPE, 16th June