O interpret my soul to me!
Give me no truth, no sight, no road.
Mother of things impossible,
Sister of what can never be,
Thou whose closed lips will never tell
The words whose lack is misery
Sit by my side while I ignore.
Smile by my ignorance of thee,
And my lost solitude restore.
Oh, life is sad as things unwilled,
Love is the day that never comes
To those blind as my soul, and filled
With that pressage of coming drums
When the city shall fall, that haunts
The inner vision whose night hums
In us while death startingly chaunts.
O interpret my soul to me!
Give me no truth, no sight, no road,
But take from me the misery
Of consciousness and the unseen goal
Of seeking ever what doth seem.
Lighten with being‑near my load!
O let me hold thy hand and dream!