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Ashlar Home > Poems > Seymor Brandes > A Broken Ashlar

A Broken Ashlar

By Seymor Brandes

A sense of imperfection round me clings

I hear an inward voice in deep lament:

Through the dark chancel of my soul there rings

A boding chant, with fear and yearning blent.

Thin as a specter's voice in lonely round:

I cannot tell from whence it came-or why,-

It harrows all my thoughts with mournful sound,

Like echoes of a drowning seaman's cry.

The precious pearls of wasted talent thrown

In isolated spots of my life's field:

Its irrecoverable riches sown

As worthless seed that gave a barren yield.

The images of folly, sloth and sin

That flecked with error all my nobler past,

Troop mockingly around with leering grin

I view with shuddering doubt-I am aghast!


The New Age Magazine, Washington, D. C., April, 1915
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