FLEEING AWAY

My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,
    Higher and higher on soul-lent wings;
But ever and often, and more and more
    They are dragged down earthward by little things,
By little troubles and little needs,
As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.

My purpose is not what it ought to be,
    Steady and fixed, like a star on high,
But more like a fisherman's light at sea;
    Hither and thither it seems to fly---
Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,
Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.

My life is far from my dream of life---
    Calmly contented, serenely glad;
But, vexed and worried by daily strife,
    It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad---
And the heights I had thought I should reach one day
Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.

My heart finds never the longed-for rest;
    Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,
Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest
    Who sometimes sought me in days of old;
And ever fleeing away from me
Is the higher self that I long to be.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.


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