Stones from The Quarry or, Moods of Mind. By Henry Browne [i.e. Henry Ellison] |
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“TO BE, OR NOT TO BE,” AGAIN. |
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 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
“TO BE, OR NOT TO BE,” AGAIN.
O God, is this poor Human Life of ours
Earthy, like earth, to which it cleaves and clings?
And must we, then, forego the chrysalis-wings,
Prefigured hope of higher life and powers?
Oh must it, serpent-like, 'mid all these flowers
Of Eden, belly-crawl (with creeping things
That trail o'er all our high imaginings)
And eat the dust, and, with the passing hours,
Return to dust? Hope, chilled, turns sudden pale,
And might sit for the portrait of Despair!
No conscious Life endures that life should fail:
The “wish is father to the thought;” so fair,
So dear the child, that passing ache or ail
Affrights; what, then, if Death its portion were?
Earthy, like earth, to which it cleaves and clings?
And must we, then, forego the chrysalis-wings,
Prefigured hope of higher life and powers?
Oh must it, serpent-like, 'mid all these flowers
Of Eden, belly-crawl (with creeping things
That trail o'er all our high imaginings)
And eat the dust, and, with the passing hours,
Return to dust? Hope, chilled, turns sudden pale,
And might sit for the portrait of Despair!
No conscious Life endures that life should fail:
The “wish is father to the thought;” so fair,
So dear the child, that passing ache or ail
Affrights; what, then, if Death its portion were?
Live we, then, in a mere Fools'-Paradise?
Have I this goblet, then, for Nectar drained,
Glorious intoxication! have I strained,
In thirst divine, my lips and energies
To take my fill of this wine of the skies,
To find it honeyed but at brim, with feigned
And dísguised flavours of the earth contained
Within; a Circe-cup of fine-drugged lies?
O God! what perfumes hung about the brim,
Of youth, and hope, and love! What rainbow rays
Played round the edge! what lights divine did skim
The surface, what reflections! all-ablaze
With Life; that, drinking, heart and brain did swim;
And Life so all in all, Death had no place!
Have I this goblet, then, for Nectar drained,
Glorious intoxication! have I strained,
In thirst divine, my lips and energies
To take my fill of this wine of the skies,
To find it honeyed but at brim, with feigned
And dísguised flavours of the earth contained
Within; a Circe-cup of fine-drugged lies?
O God! what perfumes hung about the brim,
Of youth, and hope, and love! What rainbow rays
Played round the edge! what lights divine did skim
The surface, what reflections! all-ablaze
With Life; that, drinking, heart and brain did swim;
And Life so all in all, Death had no place!
| Stones from The Quarry | |