Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."Yet why evoke the spectres of black night To blot the sunshine of exultant years?
Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden? 5Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden, And wail life's discords into careless ears?
Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles,10False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth;Because it gives some sense of power and passion In helpless innocence to try to fashion Our woe in living words howe'er uncouth.
Surely I write not for the hopeful young, 15Or those who deem their happiness of worth, Or such as pasture and grow fat among The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth, Or pious spirits with a God above them To sanctify and glorify and love them, 20Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.
For none of these I write, and none of these Could read the writing if they deigned to try;So may they flourish in their due degrees, On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky.25If any cares for the weak words here written, It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten, Whose faith and hopes are dead, and who would die.
Yes, here and there some weary wanderer In that same city of tremendous night,30Will understand the speech and feel a stir Of fellowship in all-disastrous fight;"I suffer mute and lonely, yet another Uplifts his voice to let me know a brother Travels the same wild paths though out of sight." 35O sad Fraternity, do I unfold Your dolorous mysteries shrouded from of yore?
Nay, be assured; no secret can be told To any who divined it not before: 40None uninitiate by many a presage Will comprehend the language of the message, Although proclaimed aloud for evermore.
