FIRE-TRAIL of the comets and meteors

Through spaces of the mind—

Gesture swift dimming, brief expostulation

Leaving cold dust behind.

Hopes with moth-wings swarmed and perished,

Foolish and gleam-betrayed :

Where is the glamour of that false miming,

Of those mock-truths that fade ?

Hands lifted, that cast no shadow,

By the soul alien to this shame,

Outstretching to the lonely and translunar

Incorruptible flame.