Idealists

Haunted with silver, all the desert lay
Washed in the light of the returning moon;
White, under her recurring plenilune,
Infinity stretched; space knew no more to say....

That moment, each in his dark mantle hid,
Condemned to tarry till the Judgment Day,
Two deathless wanderers, by seeming chance,
Met at the base of the Great Pyramid, —
Each an eternal victim of romance....

" Salathiel! " " Don Juan! " " Oh, how wearily
The centuries march, while we, my friend, remain! "
" I long for rest in Old Jerusalem! "
" I long for that first youth I left in Spain! " ...

Again the eternal moon looked down on them....

" What bide you still, with hopeless hope, to see? "
" I've an appointment with a world made one! "
" I, with the perfect woman yet to be! " ...

" Farewell! " " Farewell, my vision calls me on! "
" Alas, poor Wandering Jew! " " Alas, Don Juan! "
Rate this poem: 

Become a Patron!

Reviews

No reviews yet.