Harriet Monroe (1860–1936)

BEHOLD, I send thee to the heights of song,

My brother! Let thine eyes awake as clear

As morning dew, within whose glowing sphere

Is mirrored half a world; and listen long,

Till in thine ears, famished to keenness, throng

The bugles of the soul, till far and near

Silence grows populous, and wind and mere

Are phantom-choked with voices. Then be strong—

Then halt not till thou seest the beacons flare

Souls mad for truth have lit from peak to peak.

Haste on to breathe the intoxicating air—

Wine to the brave and poison to the weak—

Far in the blue where angels’ feet have trod,

Where earth is one with heaven and man with God.