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Title: Comrades
Author: Helen Gray Cone [
More Titles by Cone]
"Oh, whither, whither, rider toward the west?"
"And whither, whither, rider toward the east?"
"I rode we ride upon the same high quest,
Whereon who enters may not be released;
"To seek the Cup whose form none ever saw,--
A nobler form than e'er was shapen yet,
Though million million cups without a flaw,
Afire with gems, on princes' boards are set;
"To seek the Wine whereof none ever had
One draught, though many a generous wine flows free,--
The spiritual blood that shall make glad
The hearts of mighty men that are to be."
"But shall one find it, brother? Where I ride,
Men mock and stare, who never had the dream,
Yet hope within my breast has never died."
"Nor ever died in mine that trembling gleam."
"Eastward, I deem: the sun and all good things
Are born to bless us of the Orient old."
"Westward, I deem: an untried ocean sings
Against that coast, 'New shores await the bold.'"
"God speed or thee or me, so coming men
But have the Cup!" "God speed!"--Not once before
Their eyes had met, nor ever met again,
Yet were they loving comrades evermore.
[The end]
Helen Gray Cone's poem: Comrades
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