 | By The Way |  |
57
The Dance of Despair
No time to think, no time to weep,To-morrow, to-morrow, for that, my dear,
To-morrow and all eternity.
How the music laments! how it waxes proud
Of its own despair!—in one wild sweep
Of joy, of flame from the nether sphere,
A torrent, a whirlpool of wailing sound,
It swings us round and round and round,
Embracing, enfolding thee and me,
Like a whirlwind catching a ship on the sea,
Like a net, a serpent, a swathing shroud,
It binds us, maddens us, hurries us on,
Whither, whither?
Together, together, wherever it be!
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