Collected Works (Vol. I)

42 SONGS OF THE SPIRIT I will not turn toward Sodom any more, Lest its ripe glades of fruit waft up their scent, And draw me to them, what time heavens pour Brimstone and fire from out the firma- ment, And all my substance in its fall be spent ; Lest I lie there beneath a barren sea Forgotten of high God, until there went The final trumpet of the dead, who flee Vainly that fearful blast of judgment. is me! Woe My feet, in spite of me, in circles bend ; I meet my own tracks often, all in vain I seek some tower or cliff to make an end,! I find no object on the distant plain ; Misty distortions crowd upon my brain, And spectre fountains gurgle on the ground; I drop to drink, and hear the horrid strain Of chuckling devils, that grimace around, And think I catch the note of Hell’s three- headed Hound. Up still and staggering to the doubtful goal, Feet dragging horribly behind, I move Deathlike for dearth and for despair of soul ; At last Idrop. From Heaven there comes a Dove Bearing the semblance of the Man I love, And fountains and fresh grass by magic spell Are suddenly around me. And above I hear the voice my visions know so well : ‘Well striven all this day against the power of Hell!” I know these mercies still diviner grow Each day I strive. But should I sit and rest One hour of dawn, and cry, ‘‘I will not go Another step without more sleep,” that blest' Dove flies away, the fountains are re- pressed, 1 J,e,, to serve as a direction. The grass is withered, and the angry sky Rages more fierce that day, and from the crest Of black foul mountains comes a bitter cry: ** He that returneth now shall in destruction die.” So I press on. day Girds up my loins and beckons me on high. So I depart upon the desert way, So I strive ever toward the copper sky, With lips burnt black and blind in either eye. I move for ever to my mystic goal Where I may drain a fountain never dry, And of Life’s guerdon gather in the whole, And on celestial manna satisfy my soul. Fresh strength from day to Each night new failure and each day fresh strength, A sense of something nearer day by day ; Though the ill road’s intolerable length, League upon league, fling back the torrid ray Of the fierce sunlight night can scarce allay With the incessant beating of cool wings, And men’s bleached skeletons infest the way ; Yet Hope her passion like a flower brings, And Courage ranks me with unconquerable kings. So, in the power of these who guard my path, I hope one day to earn a loftier crown Than that pale garland fresh from summer scath That I called Love, and lie delighted down Beside the fountains, fled the roaring town, Where we were happy all the summer through, And merry when the autumn tinged with brown The glades, and in the winter thought we knew Behind the cloudy weather some far sky was blue.