Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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24
XX.
[Ah me, me miserable, whither am I borne]
Ah me, me miserable, whither am I borneFar in a frail barque o'er the howling sea?
The scattering shattering waves roar over me,
Love upon love, anguish on anguish, scorn
Heaped upon scorn, passion by passion torn,
Surge after surge that smites and deafens. See!
The spray is lifted in white sheets! I flee
With straining prow and sleepless eyes outworn.
Woe, woe, me miserable, whither am I hurled?
Is it o'er the cataract, or down the chasm,
Or tempest-lifted from the precipice?
The Godless Universe, the guideless world
Foams maddening round me with an earth-quake spasm,
And I go shuddering through the loud abyss.
Jan. 2nd, 1886.
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