Wanderer
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