SINCE, in my third decade, Through hours of storm and stress— An-hungered and athirst For Light, in loneliness Beyond belief—I burst My spiritual bonds and made My bruised, half-broken way, By strong, by stern essay, Towards intellectual Day. ... Since I spread wings long mired in that morass Which is suburban ignorance, sloughed the crass, Crude, vitiating vision which deforms The lives of myriads, makes of them mere worms ... Since, daring, I won free, To find fierce, passionate, Fresh curiosity Each new morn germinate, I had lived, to the faithful fullest, every stage Of Life, had untroubled viewed the harsh approach of Age. Freedman, not serf, of soul; Fortunate fugitive; Voiding vile vassalage, Vital and fruitive, Proud, I made pilgrimage Through Life, took rich, rare toll Of each successive phase, Walking, in wonder, ways Ful-filled with fresh essays, Such as saw, ceaseless, each successive hour Bring its true thrill, and shine superior To that which burned before it ... so that I Thus living, lost all thought that I must die— Or rather, held with him Who wielded pen, had home, In distant hours and dim, At rare and ancient Rome, That one who, incessant searching, draws devoted breath, Achieves old age ungrieving, slides, unvext, to Death. And then @3You@1 came again Into my life: You, loved Long since, long-lost, scarce-changed From days wherein I proved Passionate griefs, and estranged Myself, to lull my pain. ... I found Your beauty still Strong to make weak my will, Your voice yet swift to thrill My soul, as when, in Breton hours, it told Me more of myself than I myself ere knew— Told me things trebly buried, ten times true. ... So, seeing You, I saw that I was old, You young, yet: gulfs which lay Between us in years past, Widened in woeful way, More deep, more dark, more vast. ... While, to find Youth afresh, I felt that I could sell My soul, like Goethe's Faust, to everlasting Hell. But, lo! From out the wrack, From all that might have been, Beautiful, great, there grew Friendship, all un-foreseen, Firm, fine, fresh-found, fire-new: Friendship which lulled my lack Of Love: which makes my ways One long delight, allays Old wounds, adorns my days, Gives gracious zest for living, each glad time We meet; uplifts, exalts and turns sublime Life, which had lost its pristine sweetness; mends My sorrows, stirs my spirit ... thus transcends All things experienced, known, Hoped for, and dreamed of. I— Who have walked o'er-much alone— Live richly, royally: Hearing You, seeing You, thinking of You; know perpetual Joy and refreshment; find, each hour, feast, festival. Yet, should it come to pass— As come to pass it must— That each dear dream I nurse, Turn, in due time, to dust, Die, dissipate, disperse, Gone as grey Autumn's grass. ... When, as it will, the wind Wafts You away, to find Fresh home, and Fate discind Our paths—although my lonely life's sole sun Should cease to shine, and Life itself seem done— Be sure, be sure, past any doubt, that I Shall, till the utmost end, think tenderly Of You, though Earth seem riv'n: Grateful and glad, thank God For gracious, good things given, Accept and kiss his rod. ... Cry, in my crucifixion, questionless, "Go, my dear, go. And, going, find high happiness!" |