Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/3



Vainly, too vainly 'gainst the power I strive, Which, night and day, comes rushing through my soul! Without that pouring forth of thought and song My life is life no more! Wilt thou forbid the silkworm to spin on, When hourly with the laboured line he draws Nearer to death?—In vain! the costly web Must from his inmost being still be wrought, Till he lies wrapt in his consummate shroud. Oh! that a gracious God to us may give The lot of that blest worm!—to spread free wings And burst exultingly on brighter life, In a new realm of sunshine!