70 THE SUN’S HIGHWAY

Though long be the way to the Limit of Lands, And through leagues and leagues of treacherous sands, And miles of marsh and mire, One must win, if at all, to the rim of the west Ere one enter the kingdom the sun loves best, Yet there is my heart’s desire. And lately I learned of a pleasanter way Which two of us travel on every day— Oh, for all that a staid world deems None cross high heaven, men have forgot The sun in his flamy chariot And me in my car of dreams! Whereby we win to a land of ease In whose stately glittering palaces Wracked lives are lived anew,— For the sun and I go on pilgrimage To the lovelier land of a younger age, Where what might have been is true. I may not know on what lordly quest The sun fares sturdily into the west, But I know that he goes with joy, And espies, perhaps, past the mountained rim Repentant Daphnê awaiting him, Or Creusa no longer coy. There, too, she waits whom alone I love; And a chill light heart that I could not move And bright eyes which would not see My heart’s hard hunger, no more the same, Enkindle and nourish love’s lovely flame, And its beacon burns for me. Well! I must win to her; I must kneel— Kneel at her naked feet,—and feel Soft hands that caress my hair Silently—oh, in such tender wise That I shall not hasten to raise tired eyes To a face however fair. Fair face unstained by the grave’s eclipse! Fair face that lifts now to no man’s lips And troubles no man’s sleep! The woman that wore you has children now ... But that is nothing; I keep my vow, And I have a tryst to keep. And so in a world whose tumults seem Intriguing shadows I tread, and dream Of a maiden who dreams of me: For the tryst is set; be it late, be it soon, Or east of the sun or west of the moon, I shall win to you, Dorothy.