 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
BE IT FOLLY OR FRENZY.
Be it folly or frenzy—so sweet the delusion—
I would not, for worlds, it should cease to be so!
And great were the guilt of that busy intrusion,
Which would argue the folly or frenzy to show!
The world's but a painted deceit, and the pleasure,
The only true pleasure 'tis left us to share,
Is found when we shut our eyes to the measure,
So brimful and acrid, we drink of its care!
I would not, for worlds, it should cease to be so!
And great were the guilt of that busy intrusion,
Which would argue the folly or frenzy to show!
The world's but a painted deceit, and the pleasure,
The only true pleasure 'tis left us to share,
Is found when we shut our eyes to the measure,
So brimful and acrid, we drink of its care!
What better than frenzy—the evil disguising—
If, mentally blinded, we see not our chain;
And the dream which beguiles us, predominant prizing,
Refuse to look down on our fetters of pain?
We see not the straw in the cell that receives us,
We feel not the scourge as it tortures us still;
We know not the guile in the heart which relieves us,
And fancy no evil, and suffer no ill.
If, mentally blinded, we see not our chain;
And the dream which beguiles us, predominant prizing,
Refuse to look down on our fetters of pain?
We see not the straw in the cell that receives us,
We feel not the scourge as it tortures us still;
We know not the guile in the heart which relieves us,
And fancy no evil, and suffer no ill.
Why waken the dreamer, when bright to his vision
Seems the life that on waking his spirit deplores?
Why torture the soul all whose dreams are elysian,
With the gloom of that reason which blackens all yours?
Call it folly, or frenzy, but, oh! let my madness
Escape without question! My heart is at stake!
I dream, it may be, but the dream is all gladness,
All grateful, all glorious—and why should I wake?
Seems the life that on waking his spirit deplores?
Why torture the soul all whose dreams are elysian,
With the gloom of that reason which blackens all yours?
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Escape without question! My heart is at stake!
I dream, it may be, but the dream is all gladness,
All grateful, all glorious—and why should I wake?
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |