The Snow-Blind

As men who once have seen
White sun on snow, white fire on ice,
And in a wide noon, shadowless,
Gone blind with light,
So these men walk who once have seen
God without veils, the mind’s
Momentary and blinding birth of sight.
To them henceforth we are but shape and shadow,
Fog forms, hands moving in a mist,
Our houses dark, our halls are winding tunnels,
Our little triumphs less than little straws
Balanced above a sparrow’s nest.
And from that hour we call them dangerous men and strange,
Bigoted, fierce, loud croakers of a dream,
Anarchists, atheists, we say,
Who walk, eyes stretched, as blind men walk,
But ask no man the way.
JOSEPHINE W. JOHNSON