Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics

XXXII. "Our Daily Bread"

     We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell
     To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet;
     There have been men who sank down into Hell
       In some suburban street,

     And some there are that in their daily walks
     Have met archangels fresh from sight of God,
     Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks
       Long files of faerie trod.

     Often me too the Living voices call
     In many a vulgar and habitual place,
     I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall,
       I see a strange god's face.

     And some day this work will work upon me so
     I shall arise and leave both friends and home
     And over many lands a pilgrim go
       Through alien woods and foam,

     Seeking the last steep edges of the earth
     Whence I may leap into that gulf of light
     Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth,
       Part of me lived aright.