The eternal Dream
  is borne on the wings of ageless Light
  that rends the veil of the vague
    and goes across Time
  weaving ceaseless patterns of Being.

The mystery remains dumb,
  the meaning of this pilgrimage,
  the endless adventure of existence —
whose rush along the sky
  flames up into innumerable rings of paths,
till at last knowledge gleams out from the dusk
    in the infinity of human spirit,
  and in the dim lighted dawn
  she speechlessly gazes through the break in the mist
    at the vision of Life and [of]1 Love
  [rising]2 from the tumult of profound pain and joy.