I send these creatures to lay a ghost,
And not to raise up fame!
For I shrink from the way that they go almost
As I shrink from the way that they came.

To lose their sorrow I send them so,
And to lose the joys I held dear;
Ere I on another journey go
And leave my dead youth here.

For I am the lover, the anchoret,
And the suicide -- but in vain;
I have failed in their deeds, and I want them yet,
And this life derides my pain.

I suffer unrest and unrest I bring,
And my love is mixed with hate;
And the one that I love wants another thing,
Less unkind and less passionate.

So I know I have lost the thing that I sought,
And I know that by my loss
I have won the thing that others have bought
In agony on this cross.

But I whose creed is only death
Do not prize their victory;
I know that my life is but a breath
On the glass of eternity.

And so I am sorry that I failed,
And that I shall never fulfil
The hope of joy that once I hailed
And the love that I yearn for still.

In a little while 'twill be all the same,
But I shall have missed my joy;
And that was a better thing than fame
Which others can make or destroy.

So I send on their way with this crude rime
These creatures of bitter truth,
Not to raise up fame for a future time,
But to lay the ghost of my youth.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And now it is time to start, John-John,
And leave this life behind;
We'll be free on the road that we journey on
Whatever fate we find.