Philosophies — Soul-Scorn

No cloak of cloudy wrack The mistless mystery mars, But all the desert is black Beneath the quivering stars.

I hear the pinions creak Of night-birds, beating by;

And lost hyaenas shriek Unto the spectral sky.

The Stars, immortal Sons Of God, are full of fire;

But we, rejected ones, Know heav’n but in desire.

My Soul said, ‘Art thou dead?

The chasm of night is riv’n;

What dost thou see?

’ I said, ‘The full-fired fires of heav’n. ’ ‘Look not but see,’ he said.

I said, ‘I know not whether They are the hosts of God Clashing their spears together.

So bright the stars appear Their splendour smokes in heav’n;

I think indeed I hear Their distant voices ev’n. ’ He said, ‘See not but know.

’ I said, ‘I cannot see;

I think perhaps they go To some great victory.

’ He said, ‘For ever they go, Still onward, on and on;

And that is why they know The victory’s clarion.

’ I said, ‘I am too weak To do more than I must.

’ He said, ‘Then cease to seek And perish in the dust.

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