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 mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter ...
Francis Thompson
A misfit Catholic from a time and a place where just being Catholic made you a misfit, Francis Thompson lived a down and out life in London's late 1800's. An opium addict, failed doctor and failed priest who found his savior in many forms, down many an odd avenue, his story is simply fascinating. He died Nov 13th 1907 from TB, his later years spent nursing himself after the disappearance of his muse and savior, a prostitute who had been housing and supporting him.
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter ...
Francis Thompson
A misfit Catholic from a time and a place where just being Catholic made you a misfit, Francis Thompson lived a down and out life in London's late 1800's. An opium addict, failed doctor and failed priest who found his savior in many forms, down many an odd avenue, his story is simply fascinating. He died Nov 13th 1907 from TB, his later years spent nursing himself after the disappearance of his muse and savior, a prostitute who had been housing and supporting him.
