Over this grave (*) a star
Shines in the heavens high,
Beauty remote and afar,
Beauty that shall not die;
Beauty desired and dreamed,
Followed in storm and sun,
Beauty the gods have schemed
And mortals at last have won.
Beauty arose of old
And dreamed of a perfect thing,
Where none shall be angry or cold
Or armed with an evil sting;
Where the world shall be made anew,
For the gods shall breathe its air,
And Phoebus Apollo there-through
Shall move on a golden stair.
The star that all lives shall seek,
That makers of books desire;
All that in anywise speak
Look to this silver fire:
O'er the toil that is giv'n to do,
O'er the search and the grinding pain
Seen by the holy few,
Perfection glimmers again.
O dreamed in an eager youth,
O known between friend and friend,
Seen by the seekers of truth,
Lo, peace and the perfect end!
(*) The first line as written is of course "Over this house a star"