Called “The World” that I particularly like.

‘T is all a great show,
This world that we’re in,
None can tell when ‘t was finished,
None saw it begin;
Men wonder and gaze through
Its courts and its halls,
Like children whose love is
The picture-hung walls.

There are flowers in the meadow,
There are clouds in the sky,
Songs pour from the woodland,
The waters glide by;
Too many, too many
For eye or for ear,
The sights that we see,
And the sounds that we hear.

A weight as of slumber
Comes down on the mind,
So swift is life’s train
To objects, we’re blind;
I myself am but one
In the fleet-gliding show,
Like others I walk,
But know not where I go.

One saint to another
I heard say ‘How long?’
I listened, but naught more
I heard of his song;
The shadows are walking
Through city and plain, —
How long shall the night
And its shadow remain?

How long ere shall shine
In this glimmer of things
The light of which prophet
In prophecy sings;
And the gaze of that city
Be open, whose sun
No more, to the west,
Its circuit will run!

BTW, this is a hard poem to find. I transcribed it from a copy from the third volume of The Dial.