He stood trembling and torn ‘tween two leadings,
and all at once found himself wound tightly
to quieter times, pining for the past,
that time long before the last when the world
had yet to rest heavy on his shoulders—
ages before he grew older in age
or deeper in pangs of toils and wages—
long ‘fore he stood before this Holy Wood,
long ‘fore he—with fright—set foot ‘to Its Light.