To look on love with disenamoured eyes;

To see with gaze relentless, rendered clear

Of hope or hatred, of desire and fear,

The insuperable nullity that lies

Behind the veils of various disguise

Which life or death may haply weave; to hear

Forevermore in flute and harp the mere

And all-resolving silence; recognize

The gules of autumn in the greening leaf,

And in the poppy-pod the poppy-flow’r—

This is to be the lord of love and grief,

O’er Time’s illusion and thyself supreme,

As, half-aroused in some nocturnal hour,

The dreamer knows and dominates his dream.