My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
 | 1. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. | XII. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
|
|
 | My Lyrical Life |  |
XII.
You did your little best to prick and sting,
And Briar-like about my feet you cling:
Is it that when I lift the waving wing
Toward heaven it may uplift the creeping thing
Near the warm heart of God's own brooding blue?
But heaven is only to be grown into
By upward living!
And Briar-like about my feet you cling:
Is it that when I lift the waving wing
Toward heaven it may uplift the creeping thing
106
But heaven is only to be grown into
By upward living!
True, the very dust
May climb the Sunbeam—ride the wind; yet must
Fall back to Earth again, as dust to dust:
And where you are rooted you must rot! Adieu.
I prick you out, I shake you off; I scorn
To carry you with me, even a single thorn!
The place for Briars now, as in the past,
Is on the dead men's graves they clutch at last.
May climb the Sunbeam—ride the wind; yet must
Fall back to Earth again, as dust to dust:
And where you are rooted you must rot! Adieu.
I prick you out, I shake you off; I scorn
To carry you with me, even a single thorn!
The place for Briars now, as in the past,
Is on the dead men's graves they clutch at last.
| My Lyrical Life | |