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O
SOUL of mine that seek but cannot find
Where lie the Hopes of life and joys of Hope,
O weary soul of mine that blindly grope
To pierce the shadows that engulf my mind,
What if a ceaseless, throbbing doubt should bind
My mazèd senses with a coiling rope
Of dark perplexities; if you should ope
Your portals to no mist-dispelling wind
Of Truth primordial, if no ray of light
Should steal across the darkness and the shade,
Would you despair of Hope? Nay, it were right
To make the hidden journey unafraid,
For Hope is only ignorance, and breath
And life are only ignorance of death.
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