Charles Erskine Scott Wood,
The Poet in the Desert
(1915)
“ Oppressors. Neither the freedom of the primal struggle, Nor the freedom of the ultimate peace. Society, a hoofed monster, trampling to death the race. Truth, dweller in the starry places, More elusive than moonlight upon the sea, tremulous. Let me behold your brow which is vague as night, infinite. Let me look into your eyes which are deeper than the skies of this Desert. Where are you. Truth, where are you? Shadowy, appearing, disappearing, ever retreating. As the mirage of the Desert which lures to the glittering Death-spaces ; always advancing, never overtaken. ”

