My far cry, though no one should echo—
Though no one to listen should stand,
I shall dare with my burden the darkness
And I shall not retreat from this land;
Though I’m hurled ’neath the feet of the millions,
Who struggle their places to keep,
The sea-nymphs still bathe with my Fancy
And the Dryads still sweeten my sleep.
Though I’m crushed, cast away and forgotten—
Though I’m buried in the dust of their cars,
I can see through their madness above me—
I can feel the quick pulse of the stars;
Though my head be the foot-stool of tyrants,
Though my back be a step to their throne,
I still dwell with the kings of Orion
And I walk with the sun-queen alone.
Though the fire of my youth should consume me—
Though my body a brimstone should be,
I can draw on the clouds for their water
And behold! I’ve of water a sea;
And though roofless, and friendless, and hopeless,
And loveless, and godless I stand,
The waves of my Life shall continue
To murmur and laugh on the Strand.