James Garber, now dead, speaks to a passer-by and points back to the path he wore across a vacant lot on his way to work. That path is gone, replaced by an opera house, but he wants the walker to take its meaning seriously. Over a life, he suggests, the hills at Miller’s Ford stop feeling distant; a woman’s promise—“I will save you”—goes quiet; the faces of friends and family turn into faded, silent photographs that seem to say, “We cannot help you.” Even blaming others for your struggles loses its force. After these realizations, he says, remember him and his path. He had learned that neither love nor work, duty, wealth, nor power can ease the soul’s deep longing and loneliness. There is no easy comfort in what he offers. The mood is quiet, elegiac, and resigned—a dead man sharing hard-won wisdom.
James Garber — Summary
Do you remember, passer-by, the path I wore across the lot where now stands the opera house Hasting with swift feet to work through many years? Take its meaning to heart: You too may walk, after the hills at Miller’s Ford Seem no longer far away; Long after you see them near at hand, Beyond four miles of meadow; And after woman’s love is silent Saying no more: “I will save you.” And after the faces of friends and kindred Become as faded photographs, pitifully silent, Sad for the look which means: “We cannot help you.” And after you no longer reproach mankind With being in league against your soul’s uplifted hands— Themselves compelled at midnight and at noon To watch with steadfast eye their destinies; After you have these understandings, think of me And of my path, who walked therein and knew That neither man nor woman, neither toil, Nor duty, gold nor power Can ease the longing of the soul, The loneliness of the soul!