I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.”
“Child — ” he began.
“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.”

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me. —
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

Stephen Crane

~*~

Oh, if my spirit may foretell
    Or earlier impart,
It is because I always dwell
    With morning in my heart.

I feel the keen embrace of light
    Ere dawning on the view
It sprays the chilly fold of night
    With iridescent dew.

The robe of dust around it cast
    Hides not the earth below,
Its heart of ruby flame, the vast
    Mysterious gloom and glow.

Something beneath yon coward gaze
    Betrays the royal line;
Its lust and hate, but errant rays,
    Are at their root divine.

I hail the light of elder years
    Behind the niggard mould,
The fiery kings, the seraph seers,
    As in the age of gold.

And all about and through the gloom
    Breaths from the golden clime
Are wafted like a sweet perfume

    From The Seer  by George Russell

https://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/i-met-a-seer/

https://www.best-poems.net/george_william_russell/the_seer.html