 | Graffiti d'Italia |  |
347
RENUNCIATION.
Oh no! you shall not catch me in the snare—
I will not love, I say!
Life might become a terror, a despair,
If you were ta'en away.
I will not love, I say!
Life might become a terror, a despair,
If you were ta'en away.
Nothing is given here, 'tis only lent,—
I will not, dare not, trust:
For joy might strike at once his heaven-built tent,
And leave me but its dust.
I will not, dare not, trust:
For joy might strike at once his heaven-built tent,
And leave me but its dust.
What horror, after all my life was given,
Adventured in one bark,
If that should go, even to the joy of heaven,
And I left in the dark!
Adventured in one bark,
If that should go, even to the joy of heaven,
And I left in the dark!
348
Left on a wreck of sorrow, with no power
My losses to repair;
With death denied, and every torturing hour
By memory made a snare.
My losses to repair;
With death denied, and every torturing hour
By memory made a snare.
Left with the dregs of life, its wine poured out;
Left to the past a prey;
From its sad ghosts that haunt my heart about,
Helpless to flee away.
Left to the past a prey;
From its sad ghosts that haunt my heart about,
Helpless to flee away.
No! I renounce life's bliss—love's perfect flower,
Sweet though it be!—I choose
The lower, lasting lot, and keep the power,
Without a pang, to lose.
Sweet though it be!—I choose
The lower, lasting lot, and keep the power,
Without a pang, to lose.
| Graffiti d'Italia | |