Stone-dead

 

In the heart of the rockhold imprisoned,

In the depth of the midnight cave,

I have spent these long years of anguish,

Stretching arms to you vainly to save.

 

The darkness has only grown deeper,

The dryness has burnt up my eyes;

If the being were cleft asunder,

From the dead stone no streams would arise.

 

A weight as of granite ages

Is upon me, and never a gleam

Do you send of your beauty or sweetness —

Not even by way of a dream.

 

Yet dim-groping within this mountain,

Still seeking the golden springs,

Sometimes I have thought maybe only

It is You, folding me 'neath your wings.

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