 | The Way of the Winepress |  |
THOUGHT AND SPEECH.
“MY long thought,” saith the Sage of Khorasan,“Briefly I cannot tell.” How often, bard,
Despairing, must thou curse the Fates ill-starred,
That branded thee, for birthmark, with the ban
To be of those, Earth, Hell and Heaven who scan
For answers to Life's riddle, — all yet marred
By lack of speech to interpret them! So hard
It is for man to speak to other man.
Yet, soul, despair not! Though thou seem to fail
Of setting forth the thought that burns in thee,
The voices of the earth, the air, the sea,
The winds and rains of Heaven, take up the tale;
The tides of Time and of Eternity
Whole make thy message for the worlds to be.
| The Way of the Winepress | |