On a Grey Thread/Disillusionment
Disillusionment
The agonies of disillusionment
are the growing-pains of Truth
Now I am done with ineffectual dreams,Kindly play-toys of the unsure years,And unencumbered, proud and free and light,With even pulses and a lifting heart,I mount the future's twisting stairs.
A week ago I thought that I must die,Or hang forever, bitter as frost-killed fruit,Scarred and broken from the Tree of Life—Because I suddenly came into my sightAnd men walked as trees; and dreams went mute.
'T is no small thing, to lose a dear, sure world,To stumble, desolate, through hideous space,Down unfamiliar and unfriendly roadsThat bruise your feet. And then to suddenly feelA great light newly shining in your face.