James GarberDo you remember, passer-by, the pathI wore across the lot where now stands the opera houseHasting with swift feet to work through many years?Take its meaning to heart:You too may walk, after the hills at Miller’s FordSeem no longer far away;Long after you see them near at hand,Beyond four miles of meadow;And after woman’s love is silentSaying no more: “I will save you.”And after the faces of friends and kindredBecome as faded photographs, pitifully silent,Sad for the look which means:“We cannot help you.”And after you no longer reproach mankindWith being in league against your soul’s uplifted hands—Themselves compelled at midnight and at noonTo watch with steadfast eye their destinies;After you have these understandings, think of meAnd of my path, who walked therein and knewThat neither man nor woman, neither toil,Nor duty, gold nor powerCan ease the longing of the soul,The loneliness of the soul!
Do you remember, passer-by, the pathI wore across the lot where now stands the opera houseHasting with swift feet to work through many years?Take its meaning to heart:You too may walk, after the hills at Miller’s FordSeem no longer far away;Long after you see them near at hand,Beyond four miles of meadow;And after woman’s love is silentSaying no more: “I will save you.”And after the faces of friends and kindredBecome as faded photographs, pitifully silent,Sad for the look which means:“We cannot help you.”And after you no longer reproach mankindWith being in league against your soul’s uplifted hands—Themselves compelled at midnight and at noonTo watch with steadfast eye their destinies;After you have these understandings, think of meAnd of my path, who walked therein and knewThat neither man nor woman, neither toil,Nor duty, gold nor powerCan ease the longing of the soul,The loneliness of the soul!