BEFORE I drink myself to death, God, let me finish up my Book! At night, I fear, I fight for breath, And wake up whiter than a spook; And crawl off to a @3bistro@1 near, And drink until my brain is clear. Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength To write and write; and so I spend Day after day, until at length With joy and pain I'll write The End: Then let this carcase rot; I give The world my Book -- my Book will live. For every line is tense with truth, There's hope and joy on every page; A cheer, a clarion call to Youth, A hymn, a comforter to Age: All's there that I was meant to be, My part divine, the God in me. It's of my life the golden sum; Ah! who that reads this Book of mine, In stormy centuries to come, Will dream I rooted with the swine? Behold! I give mankind my best: What does it matter, all the rest? It's this that makes sublime my day; It's this that makes me struggle on. Oh, let them mock my mortal clay, My spirit's deathless as the dawn; Oh, let them shudder as they look . . . I'll be immortal in my Book. And so beside the sullen Seine I fight with dogs for filthy food, Yet know that from my sin and pain Will soar serene a Something Good; Exultantly from shame and wrong A Right, a Glory and a Song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 2 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE SPINNING-WHEEL [SONG] by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER THROUGH; A VISION OF VICTORY by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON COLONIZATION OF AFRICA by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD PINE-TREE KIN by ANNE MILLAY BREMER GRACE AFTER MEAT (2) by ROBERT BURNS |