Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;And though my eyes with tears are dim,I see its sparkling bubbles swim,And chant a melancholy hymnWith solemn voice and slow.
It was the schooner Hesperus,That sailed the wintry sea;And the skipper had taken his little daughter,To bear him company.
Placing one foot in front of the other, I've climbed to higher lenghts
How shall my animalWhose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull,Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell,Endure burial under the spelling wall,
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breakingThrough the rotating shell, strongAs motor muscle on the drill, drivingThrough vision and the girdered nerve.
You see I cannot see -- your lifetime --I must guess --How many times it ache for me -- today -- Confess --How many times for my far sake
Two Travellers perishing in SnowThe Forests as they frozeTogether heard them strengtheningEach other with the words
They say that "Time assuages" --Time never did assuage --An actual suffering strengthensAs Sinews do, with age --
There is strength in proving that it can be borneAlthough it tear --What are the sinews of such cordage forExcept to bearThe ship might be of satin had it not to fight --To walk on seas requires cedar Feet
A Word made Flesh is seldomAnd tremblingly partookNor then perhaps reportedBut have I not mistook
Which misses most,The hand that tends,Or heart so gently borne,'Tis twice as heavy as it wasBecause the hand is gone?
Savior! I've no one else to tell --And so I trouble thee.I am the one forgot thee so --Dost thou remember me?
Not to discover weakness isThe Artifice of strength --Impregnability inheresAs much through Consciousness
I haven't told my garden yet --Lest that should conquer me.I haven't quite the strength nowTo break it to the Bee --
At the back of the noisy cafébent over a table sits an old man;a newspaper in front of him, without company.
You who live secureIn your warm housesWho return at evening to findHot food and friendly faces:
This life that we call our ownIs neither strong nor free;A flame in the wind of death,It trembles ceaselessly.
INot by the grief that stuns and overwhelms All outward recognition of revealed And righteous omnipresence are the days Of most of us affrighted and diseased,
IPartly to think, more to be left alone, George Annandale said something to his friends A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough To suit their funeral gazeand went upstairs;
(AMSTERDAM, 1645)And there you are again, now as you are. Observe yourself as you discern yourself In your discredited ascendency;
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