Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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26
XXII.
[I grope for thee through labyrinths of thought]
I grope for thee through labyrinths of thought,Through the forgotten records of old years,
Mid memories withering time now daily sears,
And old delightful dreams now brought to nought,
I search for thee; and my dim eyes are fraught
With baffling dews; but sometimes soft appears,
But sometimes faintly, through a mist of tears,
A glimmering shadow of thy shape is caught.
Why does that image ever wear the smile
You gave me once? Is it that to your soul
My life not unheroic stands revealed;
Ah pardon, pardon. Let not hope defile
The single aim that guides me to my goal,
And love's closed book lie folded, clasped, and sealed.
Jan. 26th, 1886.
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