A Meeting With Despair

As evening shaped I found me on a moor     Which sight could scarce sustain:     The black lean land, of featureless contour,     Was like a tract in pain.     "This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one     Where many glooms abide;     Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun -     Lightless on every side.     I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught     To see the contrast there:     The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,     "There's solace everywhere!"     Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood     I dealt me silently     As one perverse misrepresenting Good     In graceless mutiny.     Against the horizon's dim-discerned wheel     A form rose, strange of mould:     That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel     Rather than could behold.     "'Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent     To darkness!" croaked the Thing.     "Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent     On my new reasoning.     "Yea but await awhile!" he cried. "Ho-ho! -     Look now aloft and see!"     I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven's radiant show     Had gone. Then chuckled he.