Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/202

 I ranged too high: what draws me down Into the common day? Is it the weight of that half-crown, Which I shall have to pay? For, something duller than at first, Nor wholly comfortable, I sit (my empty glass reversed), And thrumming on the table:

Half fearful that, with self at strife, I take myself to task; Lest of the fullness of my life I leave an empty flask: For I had hope, by something rare, To prove myself a poet; But, while I plan and plan, my hair Is gray before I know it.

So fares it since the years began, Till they be gather'd up; The truth, that flies the flowing can, Will haunt the vacant cup: