Blue oblivion, largely lit, smiled and smiled at me.
Only madmen seize the storyWith coals of fire upon their tongue.
Neither will I put myself forward as others may do,Neither, if you wish to flatter, will I flatter you;I will look at you grimly, and so you will know I am true.
Who writes poetry imbibes honey from the poisoned lips of life.
Time, the dark whale, spouts blithely from his spiracleA jet of memory that makes glad the sun.
You came to climb,And you endure --So turn your face to the rock of Time,Make one more foothold sure!
So let it be, let it be,Fretting all the day!
Like a knight in glittering armor,LaughterStood up at his side.
You are to me what the bowstring is to the shaft,Speeding my purpose aloft and aflame and afar.
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