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Edwin Arlington Robinson - The Altar
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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 love’s murmur, blent
With sorrow’s warning, gave but a supreme  
Unending impulse to that human stream  
Whose flood was all for the flame’s 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.
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