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.
Through field,—my tangled path is crossedWith winds and stinging spears of frost.
Through field,—the stones rise up and woundMy fearful feet, that stain the ground.
Through field,—sometimes one rose forlornGives me its flush, without its thorn.
Through flood,—the wide rains beat my browThe world is only water now.
Through flood,—wave after wave there is:Wave after wave,—what else but this?
Through flood,—one sea another meets;See Arctic ice in tropic heats!
Through flood,—there is one ship in sight:If I might reach it,—if I might!
Through fire,—what flames and flames there be!The world is only fire to me.
Through fire,—how palace spire and wallPut shining garments on and fall!
Through fire,—I hear the last voice cry,"The world is ashes." But am I?
Calm on the awful element,I turn and say, "I am content."