Life is not worth having, with all it can give; For something beyond it poor man sure must live...

All things unto us are queries
That from normalness depart,
And their ceaseless asking wearies
              My heart
Things are and seem, and nothing bears
The secret of the life it wears.


All things` presence e`er is asking
Questions of disturbing pain
With dreadful hesitation tasking
                 My Brain.
How false is truth? How much doth seem
Since dreams are all and all`s a dream.


Before mystery my will faileth
Torn with war within the mind,
And Reason like a coward quaileth 
                  To find
More than themselves all things reveal
Yet that they with themselves conceal.