Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/156

  That’s waiting if the blooms will bow To earth beneath this burden sweet, Waiting if other worlds somehow Its scent will wake to glowing heat.

I hold a cup within my palm, That’s waiting for the lips of man, I hold a cup within my palm, I hold my heart, that overran.

The home of my fathers was far, far away (How far and how long ago, I cannot learn) For lands that were steeped in a maddening fray, Shattered and ruined in a desperate fray For lands wasted thus, I no longer yearn.

When ’er I return I find ample proof That I am a stranger in this new found home. How strange all appears beneath the new roof, Where people are huddled beneath a low roof How strange and unkind the land I now roam.

The flames in my heart burn, fanned by a breeze In a desolate chamber I am forging my shield. I am longing to reach the realms of far seas, Over the waves of strange stormy seas, To strike at the elements and force them to yield.

When in my dreams the tempests I’ll face Feeble with rapture I’ll toss on the slopes Strange mystic hurricanes I will embrace Mysterious passions I will embrace, That do not mirror my unfathomed hopes.