[Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864] <br /> <br /> <br />Where spells were wrought he sat alone, <br />The wizard touching minds of men <br />Through far-swung avenues of power, <br />And proudly held the magic pen. <br /> <br />By the dark wall a white Shape gleams, <br />By morning's light a Shadow falls! <br />Is it a servant of his brain, <br />Or Power that to his power calls? <br /> <br />By morning's light the Shadow looms, <br />And watches with relentless eyes; <br />In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp, <br />While the pen ever slower flies. <br /> <br />By the dark wall it beckons still, <br />By evening light it darkly stays; <br />The wizard looks, and his great life <br />Thrills with the sense of finished days. <br /> <br />A Shape so ghost-like by the sun, <br />With smiles that chill as dusks descend! <br />The glancing wizard, stern and pale, <br />Admits the presence of the End. <br /> <br />Health has forsaken, death is near, <br />The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim; <br />The End approaches, and the man <br />Dreams of no spell for quelling Him.<br /><br />Rose Hawthorne Lathrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/power-against-power/
