A Meeting with Despair
As evening shaped I found me on a moorWhich sight could scarce sustain:The black lean land, of featureless contour,Was like a tract in pain.
“This scene, like my own life,” I said, “is oneWhere many glooms abide;Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun—Lightless on every side.
I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caughtTo see the contrast there:The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,“There’s solace everywhere!”
Then bitter self-reproaches as I stoodI dealt me silentlyAs one perverse—misrepresenting GoodIn graceless mutiny.
Against the horizon’s dim-discernèd wheelA form rose, strange of mould:That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feelRather than could behold.
“’Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spentTo darkness!” croaked the Thing.“Not if you look aloft!” said I, intentOn my new reasoning.
“Yea—but await awhile!” he cried. “Ho-ho!—Look now aloft and see!”I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven’s radiant showHad gone. Then chuckled he.
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