text: ] 4 Here bathed Perfection in thy purest ray Free from the clogs and taints of clay Hovers divine the Archetypal Man! Like those dim phantom ghosts of life that gleam And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream While yet they stand in fields Elysian Ere to the flesh the Immortal ones descend-- If doubtful ever in the Actual life Each contest--here a victory crowns the end Of every nobler strife