THE HOUSE OF LIVING ALONE MOVES AWAY 221


CHAPTER X

THE DWELLER ALONE 257




THE DWELLER ALONE

My Self has grown too mad for me to master.
Craven, beyond what comfort I can find,
It cries: "_Oh, God, I am stricken with disaster_."
Cries in the night: "_I am stricken, I am blind_...."
I will divorce it. I will make my dwelling
Far from my Self. Not through these hind'ring tears
Will I see men's tears shed. Not with these ears
Will I hear news that tortures in the telling.

I will go seeking for my soul's remotest
And stillest place. For oh, I starve and thirst
To hear in quietness man's passionate protest
Against the doom with which his world is cursed.
Not my own wand'rings--not my own abidings--
Shall give my search a bias and a bent.
For me is no light moment of content,
For me no friend, no teller of the tidings.