Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/27



, haunt thou not me, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead, Save to perplex the head, And leave the spirit dead. Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go, While from the secret treasure-depths below, Fed by the skiey shower, And clouds that sink and rest on hill-tops high, Wisdom at once, and Power, Are welling, bubbling forth, unseen, incessantly? Why labour at the dull mechanic oar, When the fresh breeze is blowing, And the strong current flowing, Right onward to the Eternal Shore?

am I yet, another twelvemonth spent, One-third departed of the mortal span, Carrying on the child into the man, Nothing into reality. Sails rent, And rudder broken,—reason impotent,— Affections all unfixed; so forth I fare On the mid seas unheedingly, so dare To do and to be done by, well content. So was it from the first, so is it yet; Yea, the first kiss that by these lips was set On any human lips, methinks was sin— Sin, cowardice, and falsehood; for the will