Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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32
XXVIII.
[What should I do with love who may not taste]
What should I do with love who may not tasteLove's sweets for evermore? Why should I nurse
Its cruel tortures, breed myself a curse,
In mine own heart, to lay its pastures waste?
Why murder mine own peace? Why with fierce haste
Pull down my self-sufficiency, immerse
My breast in fruitless longing and what worse
Love stirs in spirits ruined and defaced?—
Remorse, regrets, loss of all left me now,
The fierce unbridled will that mocks at pain,
The will self-centred, devilish in its power,
The erect, republican, rebellious brow,
That God and Fate and Nature storm in vain,
That goes down bravely at the final hour.
March 12th, 1886.
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