Disillusionment

^{The agonies of disillusionment are the growing-pains of Truth}

Now I am done with ineffectual dreams,

Kindly play-toys of the unsure years,

And unencumbered, proud and free and light,

With even pulses and a lifting heart,

I mount the future’s twisting stairs.

A week ago I thought that I must die,

Or hang forever, bitter as frost-killed fruit,

Scarred and broken from the Tree of Life —

Because I suddenly came into my sight

And men walked as trees; and dreams went mute.

’T is no small thing, to lose a dear, sure world,

To stumble, desolate, through hideous space,

Down unfamiliar and unfriendly roads

That bruise your feet. And then to suddenly feel

A great light newly shining in your face.