Already he seeks the paths he has trod— Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden! Secretly burnt— Not for his faith, Rather because he had lost the heart To find new faith. 88 Too long he sat in the cage, That runaway! Too long he dreaded A gaoler! Timorous now he goeth his ways, All things make him to stumble— The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble. 89 Ye chambers smoky and musty, Ye cages and narrow hearts, How could your spirit be free? 90 Narrow souls!
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EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
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