IN MY CROWNED SOLITUDE
In the dogwood days of
I did find fog and fire enough,
To send my furtive signals to the undied moon,
And moor my soul among many stars made mysteriousser,
In my own silent stones:
And the moans of bones are but the beginning,
Of things yet undone;
In this day of smothered sounds,
(Though easy am I in my own way),
Which is heard in the switching of leaves knocking together,
By every blow;
But of the wind and her muscles I know nothing at all.
There in my footsteps comes the Far Wanderer,
Relentless are the steps of ice and snow,
Knowingly upon my trail;
Lost! O Lost!
Yet to tell the never ending gift,
Of the well traveled tale;
Is it story or fable? Enough.
The waxy pine-needles fall upon my snow-clad shoulders,
And I am soon enough to the fine flakes of ice;
O I am Lost! Lost!
Tonight will light my way,
By broken stars,
The rounders of myself will pass me by,
On the broad highway;
And fey are the follies of being busy,
Between the nows and then,
(Of wondering where I've been)
And the never-ending becomes itself,
In fine afflictions,
My thanks to Commander Robert List of the Royal Marines
and to the
Eagle Pub, Maide-Vale, London, for the title.
- Michael Warren Eliseuson