 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
284
THE LABYRINTH
And can it be, while thus I thread
The devious plot of winding ways,
Inextricably intertwined,
With hurried breath, and startled tread,
That, out beyond the twilight maze,
The vagueness, cruelly defined,
Lie quiet lawns, and fountains fed
The devious plot of winding ways,
Inextricably intertwined,
With hurried breath, and startled tread,
That, out beyond the twilight maze,
The vagueness, cruelly defined,
Lie quiet lawns, and fountains fed
With spouted waters, sunlit glades,
And soft applause of dovelike wings,
And temples of unearthly peace,
Where labour in a moment fades
To happy weariness, that flings
The tired limbs down, that ache to cease
From toiling, under grassy shades?
And soft applause of dovelike wings,
And temples of unearthly peace,
Where labour in a moment fades
To happy weariness, that flings
The tired limbs down, that ache to cease
From toiling, under grassy shades?
Meanwhile, in this bewildering gloom,
I linger, thrusting weary foot
Past weary foot, and stumble on
From woe to woe, from doom to doom,
To where, beside the elm-tree's root,
It seemed a sudden radiance shone,
And fragrance breathed from spires of bloom.
I linger, thrusting weary foot
Past weary foot, and stumble on
From woe to woe, from doom to doom,
To where, beside the elm-tree's root,
It seemed a sudden radiance shone,
And fragrance breathed from spires of bloom.
285
Ah! easy triumph, when I came
At morning through the pillared gates,
Through branching alleys, dewy-wet;
But now my heedless feet I blame,
And wonder what dim error waits,
What weary leagues to traverse yet,
That seem the same, and not the same.
At morning through the pillared gates,
Through branching alleys, dewy-wet;
But now my heedless feet I blame,
And wonder what dim error waits,
What weary leagues to traverse yet,
That seem the same, and not the same.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |