A Parable, 3

There was a certain man who thought to dwell
Apart from all, in loveless solitude;
None roused him or had power to change his mood.
"Within the world, endowed with many a spell,
A sorcerer, whose name I will not tell,
Waits me," he said; and no man understood.
So, for long months he dwelt in lonelihood,
Nor heeded how the seasons rose or fell.

He bore with memories, — a ghastly throng
That filled his sleepless nights and desolate days.
But, lo! that sorcerer, subtle as a flame,
Wound to him, hissing forth his awful name.
Then he, the man, so hunted, turned his face
And sought his kind that they might keep him strong.