Classic Poem

And I, to whom the tale had been a scroll
In a strange language writ, which line by line
Revealed dim meaning, could not make reply.
But looking down from those monastic walls, —
That hoary refuge of a thousand years
Remote upon the precipice of the rocks, —
Once more the sense of ending Summer crept
Out of the night upon me: and once more
I seemed as one who looks from a far place
Upon a scene wherein he has no part.
I viewed, as one beholds a gathered flower,
Man's life, and its strange pitifulness; so sweet
That memory makes the heart to overflow:
So bitter that men turn from it, as turned
This soul beside me, to the world of dreams:
So fleeting, that the darkness hovers close
Even while the seeker pauses to debate
The better path, or turns to mourn in vain
A choice regretted, and the days go by
Bearing what still remains. . . .

With calmer words
Now Theodorus spoke. —
" For I would have
A little light, leaping from eye to eye, —
A little warmth, as hand grasps eager hand
In swift adventure at whose every turn
Some eager lure awaits: — it is not much,
But it is everything! Tenderness, joy
Labor and love and strife, — all fleeting things,
But sweeter than the sharp sweet island wine,
And the one solace ... and the one solace! "

Then without pause for answer, he was gone
And the night hid him. To my troubled rest
Shortly I went, nor sought his side again,
Having no speech to answer the dim tale
Which he had uttered, though I think he knew
It was not coldness silenced me.

At dawn
I rose and forth proceeded on my way
Over the mountains. As I turned to look
Back for the last time at those old gray walls
And weathered battlements, my final sight
Was Theodorus, in his following eyes
That strange tense wistfulness for joy and life,
As from the gate he waved me a farewell.