 | The book of the dead |  |
121
[LV. If to the soul, as to the sense]
If to the soul, as to the sense,
The past were cancelled, and no more,
And this divine intelligence
To mortal weakness rendered o'er;
The past were cancelled, and no more,
And this divine intelligence
To mortal weakness rendered o'er;
So that the soul, for countless years,
Must stand amid the heavenly host,
And see, through her despairing tears,
The past irrevocably lost;
Must stand amid the heavenly host,
And see, through her despairing tears,
The past irrevocably lost;
I would bear my immortality
With something like contempt, and lift
A prayer to death to set me free
From such a poor, imperfect gift.
With something like contempt, and lift
A prayer to death to set me free
From such a poor, imperfect gift.
To find eternity unfold
A shattered and disjointed ring,
In which time lords it as of old,
Were to the soul a sorry thing.
A shattered and disjointed ring,
In which time lords it as of old,
Were to the soul a sorry thing.
122
Our aspirations were undone,
Our hopes an overshot mistake,
If past and future, merged in one,
Be not the life to which we wake.
Our hopes an overshot mistake,
If past and future, merged in one,
Be not the life to which we wake.
| The book of the dead | |