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-descernèd 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.