Oracles

78 THE HERMIT’S HYMN TO SOLITUDE Not in the laughter loud, Nor crying of the crowd, But in the farthest sea, the yet untravelled land. Where thou hast trodden, I have trod ; Thy folk have been my folk, and thine abode Mine, and thy life my life, and thou, who art thy God, my God. VII Draw me with cords that are not ; witch me chanted Spells never heard nor open to the ear, Woven of silence, moulded in the haunted Houses where dead men linger year by year. I have no fear To tread thy far irremeable way Beyond the paths and palaces of day, Beyond the night, beyond the skies, Beyond eternity’s Tremendous gate ; beyond the immanent miracle. O secret self of things ! I have nor feet nor wings Except to follow far beyond Heaven and Earth and Hell, Until I mix my mood And being in thee, as in my hermit’s hood I grow the thing I contemplate—that selfless Solitude !