Still as the holy of holies breathes the vast Within its crystal depths the stars grow dim; Fire on the altar of the hills at last Burns on the shadowy rim. Moments that holds all moments; white upon The verge it trembles; then like mists of flowers Break from the fairy fountain of the dawn The hues of many hours. (George William Russell)

Still as the holy of holies breathes the vast Within its crystal depths the stars grow dim; Fire on the altar of the hills at last Burns on the shadowy rim. Moments that holds all moments; white upon The verge it trembles; then like mists of flowers Break from the fairy fountain of the dawn The hues of many hours.

George William Russell

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