My eyes are blind with dust;
My limbs are dull with pain:
But my body shall up and after me,
Again—again—again.
They hover and wheel above.
Where I creep on, they fly;
And with their call and vaunt of life,
They tempt my soul to die.
And the numbness of my heart,
The length I have to go,
The dimness of my starving sight,
They know, they know, they know!
But the little spark I hold
Shall light me farther on
After the gleam—like a far-off stream,—
Until that, too, is gone.
Mirage—mirage—mirage!
But I say, I will not die
For the hoarse Despairs that wait, that poise,
—And I creep while they do fly.
No wonder they stoop so low;
And no wonder they should scoff
With Ah and Ah!—and beak and claw,
As they let me beat them off.
For there is no path to see.
But after the vanished flag
My soul has gone; and after me,
Body must strive and lag.
Up with you,—follow; come—
Whither my face is set.
They would have us dead: but I have said,
Not yet,—not yet,—not yet!