SEVEN lights set in the sky ;

Search, search them out;

Drink from a Golden Chalice

That puts an end to drought.

The infinite stairway spirals

From midnight's heavy dun

Shadows, beyond the dawn's rim

To noon-enthroned sun.

Speeding through clear bright aether

Go feet that cast no shade ;

Though the footsoles throng on the gleampath

No phantom of sound is made.

I would tread on the aether's truth way

With a footsole empty of weight,

And soundlessly fare through that star world

To the living Solar Gate.