Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/29

 Yes, I have lied, and so must walk my way, Bearing the liar’s curse upon my head; Letting my weak and sickly heart be fed On food which does the present craving stay, But may be clean-denied me e’en to-day, And tho’ ’twere certain, yet were ought but bread; Letting—for so they say, it seems, I said, And I am all too weak to disobey! Therefore for me sweet Nature’s scenes reveal not Their charm; sweet Music greets me and I feel not; Sweet eyes pass off me uninspired; yea, more, The golden tide of opportunity Flows wafting-in friendships and better,—I Unseeing, listless, pace along the shore.

How often sit I, poring o’er My strange distorted youth, Seeking in vain, in all my store, One feeling based on truth; Amid the maze of petty life A clue whereby to move, A spot whereon in toil and strife To dare to rest and love. So constant as my heart would be, So fickle as it must, ’Twere well for others as for me ’Twere dry as summer dust. Excitements come, and act and speech Flow freely forth; but no, Nor they, nor ought beside can reach The buried world below.