Classic Poem

The skies are cold and hard; the dead lights trail
On the long hills; the bitter day is o'er.
Closer I fold my cloak against the gale:
For I return no more.

No more! the vow shall not be reconciled;
How long, how bitter was the day I bore!
Enough! and now away into the wild,
Away, to turn no more.

Surely I shadowed on the coming days
Th'embracing trust and love of childish lore;
For now, be it blame I leave behind or praise,
I may return no more.

On, on! How long the way, the time how brief!
Folly to linger round the scene of yore!
Away with memory, and the memory's grief, —
For I return no more.

I ask, can ever this dark night pale to morn,
And has yon dubious morrow aught in store?
Or shall it find me weary and forlorn,
Who can return no more?

If then the night grow blacker with black cloud,
And sink the road to nothingness before;
If break the heart; still should I say, " I vowed,
And shall return no more " ?

If then I madden, if I yield, and yearn
For such past light as once the evening wore;
And if it come to death or to return,
Still shall I turn no more? —

Some voice shall guide me in the night that falls,
Assure that I shall reach the further shore,
And nerve the failing heart, while still it calls,
" On! for thou turnest no more. "

Then on! Not much avails the will, the thought;
Abandonment the voice of reason swore.
What recks it then? The mould of Fate is wrought;
And lo! I turn no more.