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HISTORY OF OREGON LITERATURE
She sent me forth amid the throng To toil, to trust and be betrayed,To war with poverty and wrong, To hate, defy and be dismayed.I heard love's snow-white story, pale With sweet delights and blissful fear,And the dear lips that told the tale Turned coldly from me with a sneer;My holy faith was rudely slain In doubt, and clamor and distrust,In sobs and darkness and in pain I saw it buried in the dust.My dreams of fame—she hid them all Like corpses in lone graves at rest,Amid the crowd I saw them fall, Amid the scornful laugh and jest.For one sweet drop of bliss I plead With all the tintless dews and myrrh,"Love hath a balm for thee," she said, "But Sorrow is her messenger."
She sets my face towards the west, Still pointing with her purple fingerWhere suns are set in wild unrest And sable clouds do mourn and linger,She haunts me when my soul is sad And bitter, filled with stings and wrongs,She taunts me till my spirit's mad And madness breathes in all my songs.I hear the moan of dull, sad seas That cannot fall on other ears,And if my lays seem phantasies And sneers too often rhyme with tears;If in my songs the eagle's shriek Doth hush the peaceful, cooing dove,Still bear in mind I sing and seek The wayward truth of human love.
