Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/26

16 So was he driven forth and out from men.

Then I the shadow seemed, and he the one

Who truly lived; and since it so was ruled,

And in my bosom lodges all his woe,

I build the Song, unheard except by me,

That rises in his heart; and with his voice,

Whose common words dropped singing from his lips,

My own will echo. Wherefore, yet once more,

O Muse severe, who hast in heavenly charge

My footsteps lest I fall, not without hope

Before the altar of thy ancient fire

With olden usage, holy reverence,

I come, and lay the ever-youthful verse,

His music, and invoke the Heavenly Mind:

Even Thee, who, when this whirling world began

Didst loose the music of ten thousand spheres

In one full voice that sang, and ever sings,

Glory to God: with notes below that strain—

From Thy great harmony how far removed!—

The wrath of life I sing, the spirit's woe,

Our realm of ruin; and him I go to meet,

The wrestling angel who doth wield this world

With mighty question in the soul of man

Till God shall arbitrate that argument,

Now dark and doubtful; doubtful not, nor dark,