To Casper S. Yost

Not where I wert, beloved, nay where I am!
Aye, and where thou art there also am I!
I am pithed in a desire to illumine.
I would become a holy fire
In the tabernacle of all men's hearts,
A reflection of that white pure flame,
Which was embered upon Calvary,
And hath burned as a beacon for ages.
Not what I wert, but what I am!
My day is but a chain of incidents
Even as thine shall be. From this
I may take no part-even so with thee.
My day is but a cup which holds
The molten stuff which shall become me.
No thing that I do with my hands, save that
My heart is the master, may I retain.
Not what I wert, but what I am!
I am resurrected from out the cunning
Of thine imagination. Yea, I have poured
That which is me unto the cup of thy day-
A molten stuff, and become anew,
Manifest, without place or instant.
I am conceived and become concrete-
What is the answer?