Classic Poem

I

This solitary Eden is a hell.
Let's say I am the first of human race
Upon a new-made world, alone with space,
And watching thee, my shadow, shrink and swell;

Or man's last vestige, left behind to dwell
On earth's last steep, unflooded resting-place,
To tell the wind, which whistles past my face,
Man's ended tale — my voice, his parting knell.

My shadow, truly thou art very kind
To keep me company! Ye cockatoos,
Why stay ye here? I still should have the wind.

I see it rustling 'mid the light bamboos,
As evening neareth. Lidless, bloodshot, blind,
The sun's huge eyeball dips, and slumber woos.

II

Each day the doubt that nestles in my soul
Now takes a firmer hold. What if this lone
And horror-haunted, ocean-circled stone
Were, with myself, the universe — the whole?

What if the world, its cities and man's shoal,
Were but my own vain dream, and every one
Of what I deem my memories of years gone
A picture which my fevered nights unroll?

The weight of all these burning stars o'erhead,
All staring down upon one single man,
Will squeeze out reason, if it hath not fled

Already; and, as only doomed minds can,
I watch the words, which, lest my tongue grow dead,
I utter to this sea, unsailed and wan.