XXVII
My Friend
I had a friend who battled for the Truth,
With stubborn heart and obstinate despair,
Till all his beauty left him, and his youth,
And there were few that loved him anywhere.
Then would he wander out among the graves,
And dream of dead men lying in a row;
Or, standing on a cliff, observe the waves,
And hear the wistful sound of winds below;
And yet they told him nothing. So he sought
The twittering forest at the break of day,
Or on fantastic mountains shaped a thought
As lofty and impenitent as they.
53
