David Park Barnitz

They come and go, they pass before my soul,
Desire and Love, weak Anguish and Distress,
Shame and Despair: in phantom crowds they press,
Life's poor processional, Time's lowly dole.

Mournful their voices as slow bells that toll,
Voices of them that curse and do not bless;
Ineffable things wrapp'd round with loathsomeness,
The deeds that I have done in Fate's control.

They leer and moan, they shriek and threat and lower,
Ignoble faces that the sky do mar;
My changeless soul from her high pride of power

Looks down unmov'd. So the calm evening star
Upon the wallowing peaceless sea looks down,
Set far aloft within the heaven's crown.

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