Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/131

  The light of risen mornings that did not paint my cheek The feeble flame of rainbows, that did not cool my way, The glare of bygone days, time turned to night so bleak That it changed the peace of night to a charmless, turpid day.

All this flared in my soul, and the wishes of the dead Re-echoed within my I, with a mortal sobbing sound. Over my lifeless youth, I bent my musing head As one bends over a lover, whom death had found.

O strength of ecstasies and dreams, all art from you Glows with a fan of hues and in mystis tones resounds, Beneath your spell, thoughts in a blaze stream through As the light from the ether in vibrant threads rebounds.

Send down upon my soul, your glowing burning flow O might victorious, where inspiration lies, As on to the altar of stone, heavens poured fires below, Whereon Elias of old offered his bloody sacrifice.

Within my soul dwell sadness and a bitter longing scent, My thought is just a taper of feeble light that shone Quiveringly in the human sconce, impure and bent A taper upon the timeless altar of the Great Unknown.

My blood was not inflamed by a woman’s burning kiss, Insanity of love ne’er in my visions gleamed, My nerves were not illumined by the glowing light of bliss And friendship’s fragrant winds through my life but rarely streamed.

Alone I sat and solved the problems of my strife, Alone I toiled and bent over the flower-bed of my dreams More in my thoughts I erred and sinned than in my life Illusions I once loved, but kissed only yearning’s vaporous streams.

My Springtime was a lonely elegiac song Played tremulously for me by the Life I knew, The days of my joys were like a cluster of grass grown strong As it crowds along the wall and glistens with fallen dew

My memories now are colorless and arid, Like a pressed-out cudweed, breathing its whitish mold, In poverties soured atmosphere I early tarried, And reaped the harvest of the humble, on my hold.