Among the Prophets 



liantly to meet the rising crest. Muddy might 

 turn the purple richness of the cedar plumes and 

 the red shafts that rise so straight from tugging 

 with the open clefts. The mast of the old button- 

 wood might soar less straight and white up to its 

 broken rigging and the brave tatter of its sails. 

 And surely the scurrying clouds that stream 

 across the sky would lag, the wind among the 

 com would pass less fleet. But in my imagina- 

 tion they keep their beauty in a high clean soli- 

 tude. There, inviolate, they rest secure. 



And so conscious of their haunting presence 

 am I, that I too would take my place among the 

 prophets; those who go forth to desert and to 

 wilderness for the communication that will come 

 to them, alone. Should you, however, meet me 

 returning empty-handed and, like many another 

 skeptic ask what I had gone to seek, I could only 

 give you an old answer, 



"A reed shaken by the wind." 



Aye, verily, and in my answer there would be 

 the reverence of one to whom this vision has been 

 once vouchsafed. 



[49] 



