 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Though spent with fast, and crazed my bones with aches;
Half slúmbering there the while, I ever sought;
If haply I, óf that Father of mine Art;
Might not attain, through making heard of his;
To some insight, in Éngla-lánds glee-craft;
Which had sufficed to light, late heathen hearts.
Half slúmbering there the while, I ever sought;
If haply I, óf that Father of mine Art;
Might not attain, through making heard of his;
To some insight, in Éngla-lánds glee-craft;
Which had sufficed to light, late heathen hearts.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |