Emotions and Feelings

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

What have you done, you there Weeping without cease, Tell me, yes you, what have you done With all your youth? 3

The long sobs Of the violins Of autumn Pierce my heart With monotonous languor. 1

There is weeping in my heart Like the rain falling on the city. 2

I am gall, I am heartburn.

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night.

Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.

Brute beauty and valor and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle!

The achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.

Mark how my fame rings out from zone to zone: A thousand critics shouting: “He’s unknown!”

That night your great guns, unawares, Shook all our coffins as we lay, And broke the chancel window-squares, We thought it was the Judgment Day.

We two kept house, the Past and I, The Past and I; Through all my tasks it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone.

Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair.

What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn cocks say Night is growing gray, Leaving all that here can win us.

Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You’d treat if met where any bar is, Or help to half-a-crown.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.

When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness.