From The Libertarian Labyrinth
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By Herman Kuehn.
- O, weary the pace and dreary the chase,
- And cheerless the long futile quest
- Of the phantom grace we follow apace
- With th' unrest of "Hope," in the breast.
- O, sheer are the steeps and endless the deeps
- We climb in conviction's pursuit;
- Of dreamtlme heaps one sees as he sleeps—
- And awakes to find ashes not fruit.
- Why yield to the thralls of phantasy's call
- Toward the faraway "castles in Spain,"
- On whose listening walls the ghost-lights fall,—
- And whose portals no mortals attain?
- The reason why we aspire and die
- In fruitless pursuit and vain,
- Is that reared In a lie we follow a He
- And sneer at the truth In disdain.
- Ideals we chase and we fall in the race,
- Aweary and spent with despair;
- While the bliss we have sought in our headlong pace
- Has been close to us everywhere.
- Yet preachers will preach that Ideals b'yond reach
- Are more blessed than joys close to hand;
- And we blindly believe as blindly they teach
- What nor pupils nor sage understand
- But this we may know as wiser we grow,
- That we lay up but treasure of sorrow,
- If from us we throw the joy and the glow
- Of to-day for the hope of to-morrow.
- Herman Kuehn, “Ideals,” To-Morrow 3, no. 3 (March 1907): 56.