 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
THE LONG WAY.
Still the old paths and the old solitude,
And still the dark soul journeying on its way,
A little nearer to its goal each day.
About it does an awful silence brood,
Nor may it know what dread vicissitude
Shall overwhelm it, ere of it men say:
“It is not; and the place of its dismay
Shall know it never more, and this is good.”
And still the dark soul journeying on its way,
A little nearer to its goal each day.
About it does an awful silence brood,
Nor may it know what dread vicissitude
Shall overwhelm it, ere of it men say:
“It is not; and the place of its dismay
Shall know it never more, and this is good.”
“But, ah, poor Soul, how long?” I questioning cry.
“Already thou hast journeyed very long,
By barren ways, beneath a dumb, dark sky.
Once light was with thee, yea, and birds made song,
And voices cheered thee; but of all that throng
What voice to thy voice shall to-day reply?”
“Already thou hast journeyed very long,
By barren ways, beneath a dumb, dark sky.
Once light was with thee, yea, and birds made song,
And voices cheered thee; but of all that throng
What voice to thy voice shall to-day reply?”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |