circles

ALONE, remote, nor witting where I went,
I found an altar builded in a dream
A fiery place, whereof there was a gleam
So swift, so searching, and so eloquent
Of upward promise, that loves murmur, blent
With sorrows warning, gave but a supreme
Unending impulse to that human stream
Whose flood was all for the flames fury bent.

Alas! I said,the world is in the wrong.
But the same quenchless fever of unrest
That thrilled the foremost of that martyred throng
Thrilled me, and I awoke and was the same
Bewildered insect plunging for the flame
That burns, and must burn somehow for the best.

-The Altar by Edwin Arlington Robinson