Epigraphs and Proem

"Per me si va nella città dolente."
—Dante.

"Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti
D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,
Girando senza posa,
Per tornar sempre là donde son mosse ;
Uso alcuno, alcun frutto
Indovinar non so."

"Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volve
Ogni creata cosa,
In te, morte, si posa
Nostra ignuda natura ;
Lieta no, ma sicura
Dell' antico dolor. . . .
Però ch' esser beato
Nega ai mortali e nega a' morti il fato."
—Leopardi.

Proem.

Lo, thus, as prostrate, " In the dust I write

My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."

Yet why evoke the spectres of black night

To blot the sunshine of exultant years ?
Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden ?
Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,
And wail life's discords into careless ears ?

Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles
To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth
Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles,
False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth ;
Because it gives some sense of power and passion
In helpless impotence to try to fashion
Our woe in living words howe'er uncouth.

Surely I write not for the hopeful young,
Or those who deem their happiness of worth,
Or such as pasture and grow fat among
The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth.
Or pious spirits with a God above them
To sanctify and glorify and love them.
Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.

For none of these I write, and none of these
Could read the writing if they deigned to try :
So may they flourish, in their due degrees,
On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky.
If any cares for the weak words here written,
It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten,
Whose faith and hope are dead, and who would die.

Yes, here and there some weary wanderer
In that same city of tremendous night.
Will understand the speech, and feel a stir
Of fellowship in all-disastrous fight ;
" I suffer mute and lonely, yet another
Uplifts his voice to let me know a brother
Travels the same wild paths though out of sight."

O sad Fraternity, do I unfold
Your dolorous mysteries shrouded from of yore ?
Nay, be assured ; no secret can be told
To any who divined it not before :
None uninitiate by many a presage
Will comprehend the language of the message.
Although proclaimed aloud for evermore.