| THE LAMP The lamp burns sure, within, Tho� serfs supply the oil, - It matters not the busy wick At her phosphoric toil! The slave forgets to fill The lamp burns golden on, Unconscious that the oil is out And that the slave is gone! ---------------- STRUGGLE My soul is like the oar that momently Dies in a desperate stress beneath the wave, Then glitters out again and sweeps the sea. Each second I�m new-born from some new grave. ----------------- Leave him now quiet by the way To rest apart. I know what draws him to the dust away And churns him in the builder�s line: He has the fright of time. I heard it knocking in his breast A minute since; His human eyes did since, He stubborned like the massive slaughter beast And as a thing overwhelmed with sound Stood bolted to the ground. Leave him, for rest alone can cure - If cure there be - This waif upon the sea. He is of those who slanted the great door And listened - wretched little lad - To what they said. ------------------- FIDELITY Not lost or won but above all endeavor They life like heaven circles around mine; Thy eyes it seems upon my eyes did shine Since forever. For aught he summon up his earliest hour No man remembers the surprise of day, Nor where he saw with virgin wonders play The first flower. And o�er the imagination�s last horizon No brain has learning desired nothing more: Still there are stars and in the night before More have arisen. Not won or lost is unto thee my being; Our eyes were always so together met. If mine should close, if ever thine forget, Time is dying. --------------------- NOT WITH A CLUB Not with a club the heart is broken, Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see it, I�ve known To lash the magic creature �Till it fell, Yet that whip�s name too noble Then to tell. Magnanimous of bird By boy descried, To sing unto the stone Of which it died. |
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