Most working days the solitude obscures
My view on life- not sad and not depressed,
But hidden. Then some ray of beauty lures
My thoughts to open spaces with the rest--
Unbuckles me from safety like a coat;
Then cold desire, that biting draft, attacks
And makes me feel what had been so remote,
For thoughtful men can hide from painful facts.
Then as your light retreats again from view--
My sun, my eastern star--I hate the light
Which makes me miss its warmth the more, and you
Who made my swollen eyes recall lost sight.
O beauty changing peace to thoughtless rage,
Remain, and all my lonely wounds assuage.
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