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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas | ||
Thus would speak the chemist; and Nature's superabundance,
Her vast infinitude of waste variety untold,
As her immense extent and inconceivable object,
Squandering activities throughout eternity, dwarfeth
Man's little aim and hour, his doubtful fancy: what are we?
Our petty selfseekings, our speedily passing affections?
Life having existed so extravagantly before us;
Earth bearing so slight a regard or care for us; and all
After us unconcern'd to remain, strange, beautiful as now.
May not an idle echo of an antique poetry haunt me,
‘Friendship is all feigning, yea all loving is folly only’?
—Yet doth not very mention of antique poetry and love
Quickly recall to better motions my dispirited faith?
And I see man's discontent as witness asserting
His moral ideal, that, born of Nature, is heir to
Her children's titles, which nought may cancel or impugn;
Not wer' of all her works man least, but ranking among them
Highly or ev'n as best, he wrongs himself to imagine
His soul foe to her aim, or from her sanction an outlaw.
Nay, but just as man should appear more fully accordant
With things not himself, would they rank with him as equals:
Judging other creatures he sets them wholly beneath him;
His disquiet among manifold and alien objects
Being sure evidence, the effect of an understanding,
And perception allow'd by Nature solely to himself.
Her vast infinitude of waste variety untold,
As her immense extent and inconceivable object,
Squandering activities throughout eternity, dwarfeth
Man's little aim and hour, his doubtful fancy: what are we?
Our petty selfseekings, our speedily passing affections?
Life having existed so extravagantly before us;
Earth bearing so slight a regard or care for us; and all
After us unconcern'd to remain, strange, beautiful as now.
May not an idle echo of an antique poetry haunt me,
‘Friendship is all feigning, yea all loving is folly only’?
—Yet doth not very mention of antique poetry and love
Quickly recall to better motions my dispirited faith?
And I see man's discontent as witness asserting
His moral ideal, that, born of Nature, is heir to
Her children's titles, which nought may cancel or impugn;
Not wer' of all her works man least, but ranking among them
Highly or ev'n as best, he wrongs himself to imagine
His soul foe to her aim, or from her sanction an outlaw.
416
With things not himself, would they rank with him as equals:
Judging other creatures he sets them wholly beneath him;
His disquiet among manifold and alien objects
Being sure evidence, the effect of an understanding,
And perception allow'd by Nature solely to himself.
Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas | ||