And will the spirit falter and its fire
Burn low and slow, and die, when we grow old?
The brain be silent, and the heart be cold,
And love be old and cold, and all desire
Be quenched, that now higher and higher,
Immortal fire, through dungeon keep and hold,
Turret and spire of this proud life, is rolled--
Shall this grow cold and cold and then expire?
Oh let the dream live on, the mortal die,--
The vision thrive, the costly form decay,--
The beauty old and cold all pa** away,
The spirit higher and higher, in fire uprolled,
Wrap tower and spire and battlement on high
And earth and sky, so that it ne'er grow old!