The years that go to make me man

this day are told a score and six

that should have set me magian

o’er my half-souls that struggle and mix.

But wisdom still remains a star

just hung within my aching ken,

and common prudence dwells afar

among contented homes of men.

In wide revolt and ruin tost

against whatever is or seems

my futile heart still wanders lost

in the same vast and impotent dreams.

On either hand life hurries by

its common joy, its common mirth;

I reach vague hands of sympathy,

a ghost upon this common earth.

 

1 xi 1896