There Are Within Us Lives We Never Live

There are within us lives we never live By sense or soul, for being does not know To tell their depth or breast their flow Or to taste the sweetness that they give. And now in distance, now in voices still, In pity or in harmony, in sleep, We lead unconscious lives, old, deep, Upon the far slope of an unknown hill.

Is it not here that life walks wreathed at last? Many a soul meets many a soul with this: That muted lips and wistful eyes are passed In silence; yet a sign there is Burning in air, though but a shadow fall Or some pale sunbeam steal along the wall.