Before me lies a mass of shapeless days, Unseparated atoms, and I must Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays, There are none, ever. As a monk who prays The sliding beads asunder, so I thrust Each tasteless particle aside, and just Begin again the task which never stays. And I have known a glory of great suns, When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire! Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire, And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs! Spilt is that liquor, my too hasty hand Threw down the cup, and did not understand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLARK STREET BRIDGE by CARL SANDBURG THE HUMAN ABSTRACT, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE KILLED IN ACTION by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE SACK OF BALTIMORE by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS EUMARES by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS FIRMILIAN; A TRAGEDY by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |