Life and Existence

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

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

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

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?

Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill.

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!

But often in the world’s most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried life.

Yes, in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone .

Is it so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes?

So, loath to suffer mute, We, peopling the void air, Make Gods to whom to impute The ills we ought to bear.

We do not what we ought; What we ought not, we do; And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through.