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Arthur Henry Adams - Myself — My Song.
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HERE, aloof, I take my stand —
Alien, iconoclast —
Poet of a newer land,
Confident, aggressive, lonely,
Product of the present only,
Thinking nothing of the past.
If some word of mine abide,
Yet no immortality
Looks my soul for; satisfied,
Though my voice be evanescent,
If it sing the pregnant present
And the birth that is to be.
All the beauty that has been,
All of wisdom`s overplus,
Has been given me to glean;
In Earth`s story clear one page is —
This — the widest of the ages —
Virile, vast, tumultuous.
I shall croon no love-song old,
Dream no memory of wrong,
Build no mighty epic bold;
From my forge I send them flying —
Fragments glowing once and dying —
Scattered sparks of molten song.
If I bring no gospel bright,
Still my little stream of song
Quavers thinly through the night,
Burdened with a broken yearning,
Still persistent, though discerning
Life has shadows, sorrow, wrong.
So my life shall be my verse.
Here`s my record, stand or fall I
Failure may be mine, or worse,
In the twilight land of living —
With no doubt and no misgiving,
Here`s my life-blood, breath and all!
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