THE cry of the wolf in the forest brings me comfort. I know not why that cry rather than another. But so it is. I know now the loneliness of the human soul. I know that no physical contact, Touch of hand, straining embrace; Nothing of the body, can allay that loneliness, That hunger of the heart and soul. I am comforted. For when I knew That the disease for which there is no cure Was upon me, I tried to reach my Beloved in a foreign land. I crossed our Islands; an ocean, Part of a continent. Then here, in the desert, the last agony came—here— I can go no further. I must die Without the sight of my Beloved For which I have so hungered; Without the touch of his hand. But I am comforted, for I know now That if I had reached him, even then Lonely must I have gone out. It is well That my soul—that part of me Which could think and feel— Should go out on the last note of that wolf cry; The cry that has given me strength, And clearness of vision to see The nakedness and the loneliness Of every human soul. Put down the gun, I pray, Friend that has given me shelter. Spare the wolf a little longer. He can do no harm there in the forest For an hour or two. I would not turn coward at the last, And cry out my own loneliness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUSSEX DRINKING SONG by HILAIRE BELLOC THE LIFE SO SHORT by EAMON GRENNAN TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR NIGHT AND DAY: 2 by ISAAC ROSENBERG IN A BREATH; TO THE WILLIAMSON BROTHERS by CARL SANDBURG |