Theme Arranged for Organ
I. PRELUDE
What would you have of me, my friend, in truth,
A breath of understanding, or a glance
Into your soul's dark places? Can a word
Aid in your brave attempt to smother youth?
Of what avail that trifling circumstance,
In such a tumult could my voice be heard?
Before your bitter need my lips are dumb
So little can I give you. Should I come
To feed a starving Titan with a crumb?
II. INTERLUDE
Alas, I am too foolish or too wise,
Too soon am blinded or I see too far!
How can I follow with expectant feet,
What is the beacon light that holds your eyes,
Can this blind alley lead to any star
And through this dark confusion, what retreat?
For heaven is awed when comets crash to earth,
But we, who grope and question our soul's worth,
Stumbling, awaken only bitter mirth.
III. POSTLUDE
A breath, a glance, a word,—no more, my friend,
This is the sum of what I have to give
Leaving the tale for ever incomplete.
No perfect moment, and no tragic end,
Within your heart those images shall live
And die like footsteps down an empty street.
Yet all the while a stifled instinct saith:
"Spend your souls vigour to the utmost breath
And let the hounds come baying at the death!"