Dost see yon orb of light that girt with power
Rides the still spaces of the firmament,
Queen-like within her golden chariot?
One might in honor worship such a star
Shining supreme upon the front of night,
Nor bate him much from that high majesty
Of self-respect that makes a man a man.
But what of its reflection in the stream,
That puny brilliance which with borrowed gleam
Stares upward from the hollow of the wave
Soulless and unsubstantial? Lives there one
On all this round of earth could stoop so low
As to do homage there? Yet, gentle seignior,
The ideal you have loved is such a star,
I but the weak reflection.