Ere dawn I was gone. What my four walls told me I dwell not on, For they could not hold me. Oh, the lamp's warm light, Faces fond—dear laughter! Warmth and light—last night! And this comes after! Yet in storm I am warm, And the mirk's mine ingle,— In the thresh of the storm Where one's wet cheeks tingle. Black boughs—black roads, And the fog to fold me,— And a hurt that goads So no home may hold me! No road can tire, And no fear can break me, Though I flounder in mire And the stars forsake me; The house so small? If, as they told me, Its wise rule were All, Yet it could not hold me! I must joy to grieve, Easy bliss refusing. I must love but to leave, And to find in losing. Warmth and light—last night— Of a sweet, wise order; yet afar I fight Toward the utmost border Of the hurricane And the lightning levin, And the rushing rain From a pitchblack heaven. For some marshlight star That I clapped wild eyes on Do I post afar O'er the grim horizon? Nay! Near Truth will blur; So the far seas over I must haste from her To return and love her. Round the world the light That I seek—that shall find me— Was a lamp last night In my home behind me! |