Classic Poem

Through the Autumn afternoon — I sat before the fire in the Library — and read — almost a little wildly.
I wanted to drug myself with books — drown my thoughts in a great violet sea of Oblivion.
I read about Youth — how the Young and the Strong had gone forth into battle — with banners of golden and blue and crimson.
Of the sunshine that turned their processions into a river of colour — and the songs that — mellow and sweet — rose in their round throats —
I read of the young Painters — hollow eyed and pale — who paced their studios like young tigers — and with stupendous colossal ideas —
How they sat together at night — in sweet companionship — round a fire — their cigarette smoke — mystical — ethereal.
And in the glowing coals — was shadowed the beautiful — flame like body of Art.
And deeply I pored over the books of Youthful Musicians.
Splendid — and tragic — and prophetic their faces gleamed at me — always with that strange haunted look — They had taken Life to them — and sung a Scarlet Song — that had no ending and no beginning — And I read of all their resolves — and of their feverish haste — and the Phantastic Desires that sang themselves to birth. This and much more I read in my books —
Then all in a fever myself — I rushed out of the stifling house — out of the city streets and on to the gorse golden hills. A white road round the hills — there I walked — And below me — like a beautiful Pre Raphaelite picture — lay the sea — and the violet mountains. The sky all a riot of rose and yellow — amethyst and purple —
At the foot of the hill — the city, but all curtained by a blue mist — that hung over it — in pale wreaths of Beauty.
No sound at all — and yet — the Silence — of that Prophetic Atmosphere — that is created by the Twilight only — I leaned against a low paling fence — in my brain thoughts were clashing with the sound of symbals — I felt Myself — by the power of my Youth — alone — God of it all —
Love and Fellowship — Work and Delicious Fascinating Pleasures — must exist for me — if I only search for them. Away out in the harbour lights shone from the ships — and now in the city too — golden beckoning flowers.

There came a sound of slowly moving horses — I saw coming towards me — a heavy carriage — slowly — slowly — coming towards me —
And I stood still — and waited.
The horses were hot and strained — the driver — muffled up to the eyes — it was very cold —
As it passed me — I saw — inside — an old man — his head fallen back among the cushions — the eyes closed — the mouth half open — and hands of Age crossed before him —
He was muttering to himself — mumbling, muttering.

Slowly it passed — and I watched it wind round the hill out of sight.

I turned again towards the sea and the mountains — the City and the golden lights — but Darkness had rushed across the sky.