The Prize

Did we come here, drawn by some fatal thing,
Fly from eternity's immaculate bow
Straight to the heart of time's great turning ring,
That we might win the prize that took us so?
Was it some ordinary sight, a flower,
The white wave falling, falling upon the shore,
The blue of the sky, the grasses' waving green?

Or was it one sole thing, a certain door
Set in a wall, a half-conjectured scene
Of men and women moving as in a play,
A turn in the winding road, a distant tower,
A corner of a field, a single place
Apart, a single house, a single tree,
A look upon one half-averted face
That has been once, or is, or is to be?

We hurried here for some such thing and now
Wander the countless roads to seek our prize,
That far within the maze serenely lies,
While all around each trivial shape exclaims:
" Here is your jewel; this is your longed for day,"
And we forget, lost in the countless names.
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