AGAIN among the Mountains, and again

AGAIN among the Mountains, and again
That same old question on my faltering tongue!
Purged if not purified by fires of pain,
I seek the solitudes I loved when young;
And lo, the prayers I prayed, the songs I sung,
Echo like elfin music in my brain,
While to these lonely regions of the Rain
I come, a Pilgrim worn and serpent-stung.
The bitter wormwood of the creeds hath pass'd
To poison in my blood of dull despair,
I have torn the mask from Death and stood aghust
To find the Phantom's features foul not fair,
I have read the Riddle of the Gods at last
With broken heart, and found no comfort there!