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Dinah Maria Mulock - A Question
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I.

SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence 
I know not, rose upon this mortal frame 
Like the sun o`er the mountains, all aflame, 
Seen large through mists of childish innocence, 
And year by year with me uptravelling thence, 
As hour by hour the day-star, madest aspire 
My nature, interpenetrate with fire 
It felt but understood not--strong, intense, 
Wisdom with folly mixed, and gold with clay;-- 
Soul, thou hast journeyed with me all this way. 
Oft hidden and o`erclouded, oft arrayed 
In scorching splendors that my earth-life burned, 
Yet ever unto thee my true life turned, 
For, dim, or clear, `t was thou my daylight made. 

II.

SOUL, dwelling oft in God`s infinitude, 
And sometimes seeming no more part of me-- 
This me, worms` heritage--than that sun can be 
Part of the earth he has with warmth imbued,-- 
Whence camest thou? whither goest thou? I, subdued 
With awe of mine own being--thus sit still, 
Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill, 
Whose dry November-grasses dew-bestrewed 
Mirror a million suns--That sun, so bright, 
Passes, as thou must pass, Soul, into night: 
Art thou afraid, who solitary hast trod 
A path I know not, from a source to a bourne, 
Both which I know not? fear`st thou to return 
Alone, even as thou camest, alone, to God?
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