Walk in Shadow

WE walk in shadow, in the stippled shade
Of knotty consciousness; we cannot grade
Our roads of action evenly, or find
A straight-cut channel for the tumbling mind;
The thickets of desire are brambled still,
And still impale and thorn the pushing will.
But sometimes in the shooting dawn of love
We see an acre, clear of brush, above
The tangled lowlands; sometimes in the noon
Of work we see the cool, the coming moon;
And sometimes in the utter night we ride
Through wilderness of self on an unfailing tide.