I.

DESPAIR—THE ABYSS.

O dread abyss, narrow, but dark and deep, Still baffling all that men may do or dare To read the secrets of thy jealous care, The mystery that thy shuddering caverns keep, Over thy cruel mouth the earth I heap, Hiding my treasure like a miser there. My hollow doubting voice I lift in prayer; With ghastly lips I say: “’Tis but a sleep, And I shall find my loved one freed from sorrow, Glowing with love, and youth ineffable.” O fool, the only sure thing thou canst borrow From coming years is death, thou knowest well. Yet even this is gain; then hail each morrow That brings thee nearer to the self-same cell.