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Poem	You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tell, And still go on. If but the way be straight, It cannot go amiss! before me lies Dawn and the Day; the Night behind me; that Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see, And nothing more; believe, and nothing less. My future is not one of my concerns. PROF. E. DOWDEN. I AM CONTENT. ("J'habite l'ombre.") {1855.} True; I dwell lone, Upon sea-beaten cape, Mere raft of stone; Whence all escape Save one who shrinks not from the gloom, And will not take the coward's leap i' the tomb. My bedroom rocks With breezes; quakes in storms, When dangling locks Of seaweed mock the forms Of straggling clouds that trail o'erhead Like tresses from disrupted coffin-lead. Upon the sky Crape palls are often nailed With stars. Mine eye Has scared the gull that sailed To blacker depths with shrillest scream, Still fainter, till like voices in a dream. My days become More plaintive, wan, and pale, While o'er the foam I see, borne by the gale, Infinity! in kindness sent— To find me ever saying: "I'm content!"
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