midnights
WIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS . Another clouded night ; the stars are hid , The orb that waits my search is hid with them . Patience ! Why grudge an hour , a month , a year , To plant my ladder and to gain the round That leads my footsteps to the heaven of fame , Where waits the wreath my sleepless midnights won ? Not the stained laurel such as heroes wear That withers when some stronger conqueror 's heel Treads down their shrivelling trophies in the dust ; But the fair garland whose undying green Not time can change , nor wrath of gods or men ! With quickened heart-beats I shall hear the tongues That speak my praise ; but better far the sense That in the unshaped ages , buried deep In the dark mines of unaccomplished time Yet to be stamped with morning 's royal die And coined in golden days , -- in those dim years I shall be reckoned with the undying dead , My name emblazoned on the fiery arch , Unfading till the stars themselves shall fade . Then , as they call the roll of shining worlds , Sages of race unborn in accents new Shall count me with the Olympian ones of old , Whose glories kindle through the midnight sky Here glows the God of Battles ; this recalls The Lord of Ocean , and yon far-off sphere The Sire of Him who gave his ancient name To the dim planet with the wondrous rings ; Here flames the Queen of Beauty 's silver lamp , And there the moon-girt orb of mighty Jove ; But this , unseen through all earth 's aeons past , A youth who watched beneath the western star Sought in the darkness , found , and showed to men ; Linked with his name thenceforth and evermore !