I fled him down the nights and down the days.

I fled him down the arches of the years;

I fled him down the labyrinthine ways

Of my own mind; and, in the midst of tears

I hid from him, and under running laughter.

Up vistaed slopes I sped;

And shot precipitated,

Adown titanic glooms of chasmed fears,

From those strong feet which followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase

And unperturbed pace’

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat – and a voice beat

More instant than the feet –

‘All things betray thee, who betrayest me’….

 

Halts by me that footfall:

Is my gloom, after all

Shade of his hand outstretch caressingly?

‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

I am he whom thou seekest!

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me.’

 

Francis Thompson (1859-1907), Hound of Heaven.