Classic Poem

I was homesick once for a far land, a fair land,
All the day long my wish turned there;
The rose seemed a shadow, the bird call an echo
Of the fulness of beauty in that far land, that fair land.
All the morning the sun shone terribly,
Lighting my eyes that they could not see,
Flame was the noontide, flame the twilight;
I but a spark in the furious splendour
Waxed or waned as the hot winds blew.

Now at nightfall, belovéd darkness,
Tenderest, most passionate of all things holy,
Breathes on my heart and its secret flower.
Ah, how wild is the pang of blossoming!
Soul, my soul, are you fragrance only?
Darkness answers me, darkness comforts:
“It is not a far but a near land, a dear land.
Closer than thought, more intimate than agony,—
Your home land, your own land, the isle of lovely loneliness.”