 | The Way of the Winepress |  |
ELUSIVE THOUGHT.
MANY are the thoughts that rise and set in me,Star-like, as saith the great old poet blind,
“This way and that dividing the swift mind;”
And many, though I know them fair and free,
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Nay, most, like ships that drift before the wind,
Inapt a harbourage in Life to find,
Lapse and are lost in Death's indefinite sea.
Whither, sad thoughts, that might not win on earth
A house of words, wherein to lay the head,
Do ye betake yourselves? Is hope in vain
That ye will one day, rising up again,
Find incarnation in some bright new birth,
When the great tide of Time gives up its dead?
| The Way of the Winepress | |