There Is No Peace

I must give over seeking peace.

I sought it long.

Once in childhood, lying on the grass,

I watched the clouds of dream drift over.

There was no peace; the dream lay unfulfilled.

In the later years

I sought it in the driving mist far down the roads of night,

In hunger, and in the things that men deny.

I have known how silent – pitiful the evening comes,

And how the shadows deepen and the cold rock gleams

Above the burial places – one by one.

No peace, but bitter chill was there.

I have sought long and far.

The snow lies deeper and the white wraiths

Drift and whirl faster before the coming of the wailing wind.

It is cold.

I must give over,

For I lived to know the love men hail as peace.

Through the cold light of the moon before me and behind me

Was the fall of tears, the awful sound of time upon the wing,

Cold laughter, and the fall of shadowy feet.

This is the iron harvest of the years;

There is no peace.

Loren C. Eiseley, The Freshman Scrapbook, July 1927