Life and Existence

The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more—

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit— Life!

Full lasting is the song, though he, The singer, passes.

Behold the life at ease; it drifts, The sharpened life commands its course.

Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life!

No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.

And if I drink oblivion of a day, So shorten I the stature of my soul.

What are we first? First, animals; and next Intelligences at a leap; on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb.

What are we first? First, animals; and next Intelligences at a leap; on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb.

Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we pay for it full worth; We have it only when we are half earth.

Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall.

Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said!

The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I.

The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I.

Are ye too changed, ye hills? See, ’tis no foot of unfamiliar men Tonight from Oxford up your pathway strays! Here came I often, often, in old days— Thyrsis [Arthur Hugh Clough] and I; we still had Thyrsis then.

Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born.

Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too!

Her cabined, ample spirit It fluttered and failed for breath. Tonight it doth inherit The vasty hall of death.

Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade.

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven: and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed… Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose tomorrow the ground won today— Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven: and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed… Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose tomorrow the ground won today— Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?

And long we try in vain to speak and act Our hidden self, and what we say and do Is eloquent, is well—but ’tis not true!