Journey

I, who have strewn a thousand songs about

And dripped idyllic lyrics from my pen

Haphazard rhymes that I forgot again

Like dreams we sleep to dream, and wake to doubt

I, who have captured beauty with my tongue

And pressed perfection into idle phrases

Am left to stand as one alone who gazes

Into the depths from which he climbed, when young

The paths youth scaled with clamor now are stilled

The vale he left no longer seems so black