I MET a Seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean EidÃ³lons. Put in thy chants, said he, No more the puzzling hour, nor dayâ€”nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest, as light for all, and entrance-song of all, That of EidÃ³lons. Ever the dim beginning; Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle; Ever the summit, and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) EidÃ³lons! EidÃ³lons! Ever the mutable! Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering; Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing EidÃ³lons! Lo! I or you! Or woman, man, or State, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build EidÃ³lons. The ostent evanescent; The substance of an artistâ€™s mood, or savanâ€™s studies long, Or warriorâ€™s, martyrâ€™s, heroâ€™s toils, To fashion his EidÃ³lon. Of every human life, (The units gatherâ€™d, postedâ€”not a thought, emotion, deed, left out;) The whole, or large or small, summâ€™d, added up, In its EidÃ³lon. The old, old urge; Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo! newer, higher pinnacles; From Science and the Modern still impellâ€™d, The old, old urge, EidÃ³lons. The present, now and here, Americaâ€™s busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate, for only thence releasing, To-dayâ€™s EidÃ³lons. These, with the past, Of vanishâ€™d landsâ€”of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailorsâ€™ voyages, Joining EidÃ³lons. Densities, growth, faÃ§ades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, EidÃ³lons everlasting. ExaltÃ¨, rapt, extatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape, and shape, and shape, The mighty Earth-EidÃ³lon. All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, endingâ€”serving their longer, shorter use,) Fillâ€™d with EidÃ³lons only. The noiseless myriads! The infinite oceans where the rivers empty! The separate, countless free identities, like eyesight; The true realities, EidÃ³lons. Not this the World, Nor these the Universesâ€”they the Universes, Purport and endâ€”ever the permanent life of life, EidÃ³lons, EidÃ³lons. Beyond thy lectures, learnâ€™d professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope, observer keenâ€”beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctorâ€™s surgery, anatomyâ€”beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, EidÃ³lons. Unfixâ€™d, yet fixâ€™d; Ever shall beâ€”ever have been, and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, EidÃ³lons, EidÃ³lons, EidÃ³lons. The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselvesâ€”in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracyâ€”interpret yet to them, God, and EidÃ³lons. And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations! Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, EidÃ³lons. Thy Body permanent, The Body lurking there within thy Body, The only purport of the Form thou artâ€”the real I myself, An image, an EidÃ³lon. Thy very songs, not in thy songs; No special strains to singâ€”none for itself; But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating, A round, full-orbâ€™d EidÃ³lon.