I do not know from whence that horror comes Or why it hangs between us and the sun For some few men, at certain times and days, But I have known it closer than my flesh, Got up with it, lain down and walked with it, Scotched it awhile, but never killed it quite, And yet lived on. I wrote him good advice, The way you do, and told him this, for part, “Again you fear that that Elysium Of which you’ve dreamed so much is not to be. Well, I dare swear it will not be the fault Of that same black-eyed Fanny, now your wife. And I have now no doubt that you and I, To our particular misfortune, dream Dreams of Elysium far exceeding all That any earthly thing can realize.”

I wrote that more than twenty years ago, At thirty-three, and now I’m fifty-three, And the slow days have brought me up at last Through water, earth and fire, to where I stand, To where I stand⁠—and no Elysiums still.