Tell me not of vernal valleys! Is it well to hold a reed
Out for drowning men to clutch at in the moments of their need?
Go thy journey on without me; it is better I should stay,
Since my life is like an evening, fading, swooning fast away!
"Where are all the springs you talked of? Have I not with pleading mouth
Looked to Heaven through a silence stifled in the crimson drouth?
Have I not, with lips unsated, watched to see the fountains burst,
Where I searched the rocks for cisterns? And they only mocked my thirst!
Oh, I dreamt of countries fertile, bright with lakes and flashing rills
Leaping from their shady caverns, streaming round a thousand hills!
Leave me, brother, all is fruitless, barren, measureless, and dry,
And my God will ~never~ help me though I pray, and faint, and die!"
"Up! I tell thee this is idle! Oh, thou man of little faith!
Doubting on the verge of Aidenn, turning now to covet death!
By the fervent hopes within me, by the strength which nerves my soul,
By the heart that yearns to help thee, we shall live and reach the goal!
Rise and lean thy weight upon me.
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