The darkness drove me to a corner of the world;
No woe was there, no hopelessness, no hate:
It pressed its softest touch against my face
And made it pure with love and grace.
There it held the race of men who had died in vain,
The cruel wars, the suicide which brought us tears;
There it flowed with peaceful tides across a plain
All veiled in beauty past the troubled years.
I tore a page of verses from its heart
And printed in my cursive mind its lights,
Soft-swaying, hung with fruits as ripe as dreams,
Which never knew the winter's waxen blights.
I cherished it with such a passion, in a breath
So full of hope where hope had never been;
And when the soldiers of despair retire,
I see salvation in the place where once was sin.