The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||
113
XXI. Meditation.
The bitter pastAnd the untasted future I mix up,
Making the present a dream-figured bowl
For the black poison, which is caked and moulded,
By the inside of the enchasing thoughts,
Even as I taste it.
The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||