Dear God! Our pilgrimage Is a strange-scrawled page Of script concealed by script! Sweetness beyond belief Leaps on us like a thief; And when the joy has gone Ashes we feed upon; Then onward are we whipped. Voices out of thin air find us, When did we hear them before? Footsteps follow close behind us Along the empty shore. Footsteps of whom? And from what country do they come? A starved and wrinkled tree Has memories for me, Pulling me fathoms deep Under strange seas of sleep. Like whispers "Memories of what?" The soul within me answers not. Sweet Christ! our wayfaring Is an unholy thing. We stumble over graves. We open sealed doors. We sink thro' broken floors. We walk on perilous waves. Just now within a crowd, Lovely, but like a ghost, One face, amid a host, Beckoned me. Like a cloud Of fire rose Babylon: And dreaming I walked on. Flutes in the air! They came With February's sun. Thoughts, buried under mountains, swift as flame To meet this fluting run! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 6 by CONRAD AIKEN OLD OSAWATOMIE by CARL SANDBURG DINING-ROOM TEA by RUPERT BROOKE LITTLE BROWN BABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE MAID'S LAMENT; ELIZABETHAN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP SIDNEY OPPORTUNITY by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL |