 | The undying one, and other poems |  |
i
There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,—a quick root,
Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
As nothing did we die; but life will suit
Itself to sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Childe Harold.
Vitality of poison,—a quick root,
Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
As nothing did we die; but life will suit
Itself to sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Childe Harold.
| The undying one, and other poems | |