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Calamus 9

Part of the cluster CALAMUS.


HOURS continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome  
 and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning  
 my face in my hands;
Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, 
 speeding swiftly the country roads, or through  
 the city streets, or pacing miles and miles, sti- 
 fling plaintive cries;
Hours discouraged, distracted—for the one I cannot  
 content myself without, soon I saw him content  
 himself without me;
Hours when I am forgotten, (O weeks and months are  
 passing, but I believe I am never to forget!)
Sullen and suffering hours! (I am ashamed—but it  
 is useless—I am what I am;)
Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men ever  
 have the like, out of the like feelings?
Is there even one other like me—distracted—his  
 friend, his lover, lost to him?
Is he too as I am now? Does he still rise in the morn- 
 ing, dejected, thinking who is lost to him? and  
 at night, awaking, think who is lost?
  [ begin page 356 ]ppp.01500.364.jpg Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless? 
 harbor his anguish and passion?
Does some stray reminder, or the casual mention of a  
 name, bring the fit back upon him, taciturn and  
Does he see himself reflected in me? In these hours, 
 does he see the face of his hours reflected?

Part of the cluster CALAMUS.

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