All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,) Fill’d with eidólons only.
The noiseless myriads, The infinite oceans where the rivers empty, The separate countless free identities, like eyesight, The true realities, eidĂłlons.
Not this the world, Nor these the universes, they the universes, Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life, EidĂłlons, eidĂłlons.
Beyond thy lectures learn’d professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctor’s surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, eidólons.
Unfix’d yet fix’d, Ever shall be, ever have been and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, Eidólons, eidólons, eidólons.
The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them, God and eidĂłlons.
And thee my soul, Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations, Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, eidĂłlons.
Thy body permanent, The body lurking there within thy body, The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself, An image, an eidĂłlon.