OR THE CONTENTED METAPHYSICIAN
TO the lore of no manner of men | |
| Would his vision have yielded | |
| When he found what will never again | |
| From his vision be shielded,— | |
| Though he paid with as much of his life | 5 |
| As a nun could have given, | |
| And to-night would have been as a knife, | |
| Devil-drawn, devil-driven. | |
| |
| For to-night, with his flame-weary eyes | |
| On the work he is doing, | 10 |
| He considers the tinder that flies | |
| And the quick flame pursuing. | |
| In the leaves that are crinkled and curled | |
| Are his ashes of glory, | |
| And what once were an end of the world | 15 |
| Is an end of a story. | |
| |
| But he smiles, for no more shall his days | |
| Be a toil and a calling | |
| For a way to make others to gaze | |
| On God’s face without falling. | 20 |
| He has come to the end of his words, | |
| And alone he rejoices | |
| In the choiring that silence affords | |
| Of ineffable voices. | |
| |
| To a realm that his words may not reach | 25 |
| He may lead none to find him; | |
| An adept, and with nothing to teach, | |
| He leaves nothing behind him. | |
| For the rest, he will have his release, | |
| And his embers, attended | 30 |
| By the large and unclamoring peace | |
| Of a dream that is ended. | |
