Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/192



I am not mad, although I see Things of no better mould Than I myself am, greedily In Fame's bright page enrolled, That they may tell The story well, What shines may not be gold. No, no! content I court my doom, The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.

The luck is theirs—the loss is mine, And yet no loss at all; The mighty ones of eldest time, I ask where they did fall? Tell me the one Who e'er could shun Touch with Oblivion's pall? All bear with me an equal doom, The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.

Brave temple and huge pyramid, Hill sepulchred by art, The barrow acre-vast, where hid Moulders some Nimrod's heart;