John Armistead Collier

That was a wonderful flower You planted in my breast With careless hand As if in jest To tear it out again Before it blossomed.

The seeds of love you scatter So wantonly Fell upon my open heart With the promise and the power To bring forth something worthy To care for and to cherish Through the years— Ruthlessly you left it By the wayside To perish Heedless of my grief and tears.

Entranced by the old illusion The lure of a lovely phantom Gliding through the waste of the world, Again am I left Forsaken and forlorn.

And now no earthly scenes Delight me, No strains of sweetest music Dispel my dumb despair; The fairest flowers Are but weeds that wither, Luscious fruits are bitter seeds That scatter in the breeze.

Vainly I peer through the darkness For a ray of light From afar, And listen for the faint sound Of footsteps From the land Where the fairies are.

Ah God! is it gone Again— My rapture and Dream! Have I clutched Once more At the wing of an angel To find a bird That is seeking a nest?

And my hands They are filled With feathers and dust And my eyes With dust and tears— And my heart Is sunk in the earth.

How long Will you torture me With hopeless love And agony?

I looked into the heaven of blue Which is her eyes, And on the perfect pink That lit her cheeks With rosy hue, The enraptured glow— Or so it seemed— Of her first love.

I looked into those placid eyes And on that faultless face— Alas! and what was there To hold my gaze Besides the stare That set me wondering?

Lashes, long and separated, Penciled brows, and lids all painted— And her pale white cheeks In delicate tints Were done to suit The connoisseur In Counterfeit!

The blood of my martyred brothers is now served up to me In goblets of silver and gold— bedewed with sweat and tears.

Drink—say slaves and masters— drink your fill, and laugh or cry As others do who are as good and just as you.

Drink the cup poured out for you: take your portion—or perish In your lonely desert of pity and self-righteousness.

I stare in doubt and horror, they do not know; My heart is torn with terror, with rage and dismal fears.

The shameful choice is given me: to die from want with decency, Or bend my will at their command, to live in luxury.

Nobler souls than mine have spurned the fatal draught, Turned away from death in life— to seek a higher end.

But in my burning thirst I drained the bitter cup. And now I must bear the curse— the mark upon my brow, The ache within my breast through all time to come.

No human heart to beat in unison with mine, No kindred soul to share the melodies divine That sweep across me— I am forlorn: A wanderer on earth as one possessed, Enraptured with a Vision by mortal eyes unseen, Not yet a living Dream, Nor dead,—but struggling To be born— I live unknown, unloved, unblest!

Alone with my Dream in a dying world!— None will see nor hear. The Light I would bear witness to Shrines too bright for mortal eyes And blinds them with its radiance; The ethereal tones I listen for Are far beyond the range of mortal sense.

Oh, that I could pour the truth of my wild dream Into one human heart and set it afire With the beauty that enraptures me! Then would I cease to be an outcast And a wanderer, stalking like a spectre Through the world, haunted by the music Of an unuttered song—hiding my woe In the words in which I vainly seek to tell my Tale.

What shall I do to ease this burning fever Of earthly love that is consuming me? Must I wear my heart out crying Unheard in the wilderness— And slink away in silence and the dark? Will no one ever see The Truth that imprisons me Will no one ever come to speak the word That will set me free?