The Mystery

I was not; now I am--a few days hence     I shall not be; I fain would look before     And after, but can neither do; some Power     Or lack of power says "no" to all I would.     I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,     Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.     Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move,     I grope without direction and by chance.     Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand     That draws them ever upward thro' the gloom.     But I--I hear no voice and touch no hand,     Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,     And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;     Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,     And stretch my hand to find that other hand.     I question of th' eternal bending skies     That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;     But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes     On me, as I one day shall do on them,     And tell me not the secret that I ask.