By its deep thirst for something too divine,
It hath but fitful music to bestow,
Echoes of harp-strings broken long ago.
Yet even in youth companionless I stood,
As a lone forest-bird midst ocean’s foam;
For me the silver cords of brotherhood
Were early loosed; the voices from my home
Pass’d one by one, and melody and mirth
Left me a dreamer by a silent hearth.
But, with the fulness of a heart that burn’d