Emerson

On shining heights where Thought with stately tread,
Leads on her willing votaries to fanes
Of holy inspiration, and Truth deigns
The radiance of her presence rare to shed,
In solemn consecration thou wast led,
Spirit serene; and on the dewy plains,
Where Solitude in chastest grandeur reigns,
Thy musings e'en most daintily were fed.
Round thee winds played the choicest symphony,
And vistas of celestial beauty gleamed
Along thy pathway: so we weeping, say—
Though here with us thou may'st no longer be—
"He now has climbed the mount of which he dreamed,
Into the splendors of Immortal Day."