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.
The sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full,
and round earth`s shore.
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath.
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To another ! For the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams.
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a dark ling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Fantastic place, fantastic people,
But life is not...
Ingen kommentarer:
Legg inn en kommentar