Unknown Ideal

Whose is the voice that will not let me rest?             I hear it speak.      Where is the shore will gratify my quest,             Show what I seek?      Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic that far voice,             With halting tongue;      No peace, sweet land, to bid my heart rejoice             Your groves among.      Whose is the loveliness I know is by,             Yet cannot place?      Is it perfection of the sea or sky,             Or human face?      Not yours, my pencil, to delineate             The splendid smile!      Blind in the sun, we struggle on with Fate             That glows the while.      Whose are the feet that pass me, echoing             On unknown ways?      Whose are the lips that only part to sing             Through all my days?      Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes             Or find that shore      That will not let me rest, nor satisfies             For evermore.