Songs of the Spirit

Amsterdam, December 23rd, 1897. LET me pass out beyond the city gate. All day I loitered in the little streets Of black worn houses tottering, like the fate That hangs above my head even now, and meets Prayer and defiance as not hearing it. They lean, these old black streets, a little sky Peeps through the gap, the rough stone path is lit Just for a little by the sun, and I Watched his red face pass over, fade away To other streets, and other passengers, Saw him take pleasure where the heathen pray, Saw him relieve the hunter of his furs, All the wide world awaiting him, all folk Glad at his coming, only I must weep : Rise he or sink, my weary eyes invoke 5