A Meeting With Despair

 AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
Which sight could scarce sustain:
The black lean land, of featureless contour,
Was like a tract in pain.


"This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one
Where many glooms abide;
Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun--
Lightless on every side.


I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
To see the contrast there:
The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
"There's solace everywhere!"

Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
I dealt me silently
As one perverse--misrepresenting Good
In graceless mutiny.


Against the horizon's dim-descern?d wheel
A form rose, strange of mould:
That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
Rather than could behold.


"'Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
To darkness!" croaked the Thing.

"Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent
On my new reasoning.


"Yea--but await awhile!" he cried.
 "Ho-ho!--
Look now aloft and see!"
I looked.
 There, too, sat night: Heaven's radiant show
Had gone.
 Then chuckled he.

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