Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/Flight
For works with similar titles, see Flight.
FLIGHT.
Through field and flood and fire I go,—
Wherefore and where I do not know.
Wherefore and where I do not know.
Through field,—my tangled path is crossed
With winds and stinging spears of frost.
With winds and stinging spears of frost.
Through field,—the stones rise up and wound
My fearful feet, that stain the ground.
My fearful feet, that stain the ground.
Through field,—sometimes one rose forlorn
Gives me its flush, without its thorn.
Gives me its flush, without its thorn.
Through flood,—the wide rains beat my brow
The world is only water now.
The world is only water now.
Through flood,—wave after wave there is:
Wave after wave,—what else but this?
Wave after wave,—what else but this?
Through flood,—one sea another meets;
See Arctic ice in tropic heats!
See Arctic ice in tropic heats!
Through flood,—there is one ship in sight:
If I might reach it,—if I might!
If I might reach it,—if I might!
Through fire,—what flames and flames there be!
The world is only fire to me.
The world is only fire to me.
Through fire,—how palace spire and wall
Put shining garments on and fall!
Put shining garments on and fall!
Through fire,—I hear the last voice cry,
"The world is ashes." But am I?
"The world is ashes." But am I?
Calm on the awful element,
I turn and say, "I am content."
I turn and say, "I am content."