The Altar by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Alone, remote, nor witting where I went,
I found an altar builded in a dreamâ€”
A fiery place, whereof there was a gleam
So swift, so searching, and so eloquent
Of upward promise, that loveâ€™s murmur, blent
With sorrowâ€™s warning, gave but a supreme
Unending impulse to that human stream
Whose flood was all for the flameâ€™s fury bent.
Alas! I said,â€”the world is in the wrong.
But the same quenchless fever of unrest
That thrilled the foremost of that martyred throng
Thrilled me, and I awoke â€¦ and was the same
Bewildered insect plunging for the flame
That burns, and must burn somehow for the best.