XVIII

I wandered in a suburb of the north,
And reached a spot whence three close lanes led down,
Beneath thick trees and hedgerows winding forth
Like deep brook channels deep and dark and lown :
The air above was wan with misty light,
The dull grey south showed one vague blur of white.

I took the left-hand lane and slowly trod
Its earthen footpath, brushing as I went
The humid leafage ; and my feet were shod
With heavy languor, and my frame downbent,
With infinite sleepless weariness outworn.
So many nights I thus had paced forlorn.

After a hundred steps I grew aware
Of something crawling in the lane below ;
It seemed a wounded creature prostrate there
That sobbed with pangs in making progress slow,
The hind limbs stretched to push, the fore limbs then
To drag ; for it would die in its own den.

But coming level with it I discerned
That it had been a man ; for at my tread
It stopped in its sore travail and half-turned,
Leaning upon its right, and raised its head.
And with the left hand twitched back as in ire
Long grey unreverend locks befouled with mire.

A haggard filthy face with bloodshot eyes,
An infamy for manhood to behold.
He gasped all tremblmg. What, you want my prize ?
You leave, to rob me, wine and lust and gold
And all that men go mad upon, since you
Have traced my sacred secret of the clue ?

You think that I am weak and must submit ;
Yet I but scratch you with this poisoned blade,
And you are dead as if I clove with it
That false fierce greedy heart. Betrayed ! betrayed !
I fling this phial if you seek to pass.
And you are forthwith shrivelled up like grass.

And then with sudden change, Take thought ! take thought !
Have pity on me ! it is mine alone.
If you could find, it would avail you naught ;
Seek elsewhere on the pathway of your own :
For who of mortal or immortal race
The lifetrack of another can retrace ?

Did you but know my agony and toil !
Two lanes diverge up yonder from this lane ;
My thin blood marks the long length of their soil ;
Such clue I left, who sought my clue in vain :
My hands and knees are worn both flesh and bone ;
I cannot move but with continual moan.

But I am in the very way at last
To find the long-lost broken golden thread
Which reunites my present with my past,
If you but go your own way. And I said,
I will retire as soon as you have told
Whereunto leadeth this lost thread of gold.

And so you know it not ! he hissed with scorn ;
I feared you, imbecile ! It leads me back
From this accursed night without a morn.
And through the deserts which have else no track,
And through vast wastes of horror-haunted time,
To Eden innocence in Eden's clime :

And I become a nursling soft and pure,
An infant cradled on its mother's knee,
Without a past, love-cherished and secure ;
Which if it saw this loathsome present Me,
Would plunge its face into the pillowing breast
And scream abhorrence hard to lull to rest.

He turned to grope ; and I retiring brushed
Thin shreds of gossamer from off my face.
And mused, His life would grow, the germ uncrushed ;
He should to antenatal night retrace,
And hide his elements in that large womb
Beyond the reach of man-evolving Doom.

And even thus, what weary way were planned.
To seek oblivion through the far-off gate
Of birth, when that of death is close at hand !
For this is law, if law there be in Fate :
What never has been, yet may have its when ;
The thing which has been, never is again.