A thought of kindred saddened the heart of Atma. In the loss of parents
and brethren lay, he thought, the sole cause of the heaviness that
oppressed him. Their restoration would have made existence complete. He
had lost them before he had awakened to the knowledge that those we love
are even, when nearest, very far away. Humanity does not hear the voice
of kindred on earth.
I find
In all the earth
Like things with like combined,
How happy, happy from their birth
Are silly things, in guileless mirth
Who seek them out and greatly love their kind.
How e'en
The crafty snake,
Like dove of gentle mien,
Doth with his fellows converse take
The love-notes well from wood and brake
That tell betwixt some lives some barriers intervene.
Ah me,
Shall only one
Of golden things that be,
One only underneath the sun
In dolour here life's journey run,
Speeding the way alone to great Eternity?
The Soul
It sits apart,
Craving a prison dole
Of ruth and healing for its hurt,
As piteous captive should cajole,
Vainly, unheeding ear afar in stranger mart.
FOOTNOTE: [1] That this incident is suggested by Hans Andersen's beautiful story
is so evident as scarcely to need acknowledgment. The thoughts embodied
here occurred to me in such early childhood that I do not experience a
sense of guilt in thus appropriating the lesson which I have no doubt
the writer intended.