“Alone on the Hill” by Frederick R. McCreary

by theliterarymaiden

Alone on the Hill
Frederick R. McCreary
From Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, vol. XIX, October-March 1921-22, pg. 257

Alone on the hill
In the warm October noon,
With the woods below
And beyond their brilliance the sea:
The moment has come,
The rapt still instant of being,
When water and wood are gone.
There is nothing now
But the on-running fluid of hours
Gleaming with blue, yellow, crimson.
Now quick! Let me run on sharp stones,
Let me strangle in surf choked with the bitter salt-water!
Let me feel pain, feel torture,
And the acid hunger of loneliness!
Give me self, self—
Before I am lost
In this madness of space eternal,
This horror of dream triumphant.