Lo, I or you, Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build eidĂłlons.
The ostent evanescent, The substance of an artist’s mood or savan’s studies long, Or warrior’s, martyr’s, hero’s toils, To fashion his eidólon.
Of every human life, (The units gather’d, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,) The whole or large or small summ’d, added up, In its eidólon.
The old, old urge, Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles, From science and the modern still impell’d, The old, old urge, eidólons.
The present now and here, America’s busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, To-day’s eidólons.
These with the past, Of vanish’d lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors’ voyages, Joining eidólons.
Densities, growth, façades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, Eidólons everlasting.
Exaltè, rapt, ecstatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape, The mighty earth-eidólon.