Classic Poem

Up from the deep! Oh God — if God there be,
so must I spring — hand in each wretched hand
heart to dead heart of these that wear the brand —
the reckless, sightless drift of destiny.
Flesh of the nameless drunkard of the street,
blood of his blood who lives the low and vile,
lover of her who, for a little while
forgets, seared with the terrible and sweet.

Oh bitter bitter must he drink to taste
The immortal — must be blind to see the light —
human with human sin, ere deified.
Thus only may I pass the dreary waste,
leap to the unimaginable height,
and tread the star-trails where the Valkyrs ride!