Yet wear we on, the deep light disallowed That lit our youth; in years no longer young We wander silently, and brood among Dead graves, and tease the sunbreak and the cloud For import: were it not better yet to fly, To follow those that go before the throng, Reasoning from stone to star, and easily Exampling this existence? Or shall I-- Who yield slow reverence where I cannot see And gather gleams where'er by chance or choice My footsteps draw, though brokenly dispensed-- Come into light at last? or suddenly Struck to the knees like Saul, one arm against The overbearing brightness, hear a voice? |