I see there beauty, truth and goodness; all
as one; the radiance of an inner light.
But I who, standing, gaze though windows here:
what does my own soul see by its own light?
Is what is seen, seen through dark glass, or clear?
Is others’ radiance that of my own sight?
Strange fact: the outward play’s less bright, less clear
than what I see to shine in others’ eyes;
there seems less love in me, from me; less dear
the loving, than the love I see and prize!
These windows teach clear lessons to my soul:
first see my own self’s light, to see the whole.