Henceforth in bitterness I shall eat bread.
Cursed for my sake, the fields, which day adorns
No more with fruitage of the autumn spread,
Shall bear me briars and abundant thorns;
My glory, too, shall know the moth and rust,—
Come quickly, Death, and be it: Dust to dust!
XVIII
And I have lost you, so the voices say—
Voices that taunt, deride my silent pain;
Voices that fall incessant, like the rain
Throughout this dim and memory-haunted day!
Dear Love, come back, resume your ancient sway
For my strong pleading! Or is it in vain
That I beneath the stars all night have lain
Prone upon earth, clay crying unto clay?
No answer.... O thou God-vacated sky,
Thunder upon my head the riving flame!
There is no more for me to do but die!
Or else for One, whom now I dare not name,
At crossroads of the world a watch to keep
With those who thither come, a while to weep.
XIX
Last night—or was it in the golden morn—
Once more I dreamed that I alone did fare
Forth into spirit-silences; and there
I found you not; my star was set! Forlorn,
I sought the kindred company of worn
And stricken souls—lost, sundered souls, who bear
Old and avoided crosses with each care
Woven together in their crowns of thorn.
Gods of the patient, vain endeavour, these
Claimed me and called me fellow, comrade, friend,
And bade me join in their brave litanies;
Because, though I had failed you, I dared bend
Before you without hope of one reward,
Save that in loving you my soul still soared.