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NO MORE.
Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn
For human love*[1]—and never quench that thirst,
To pour the soul out, winning no return,
O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed—
No more!
On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean,
To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead,
To send our troubled spirits through the unseen,
Intensely questioning for treasures fled—
No more!
Words of triumphant music—bear me on
The weight of life, the chain, the ungenial air;
Their deathless meaning, when our tasks are done,
To learn in joy;—to struggle, to despair—
No more!
- ↑
* "Jamais, jamais, je ne serai aimé comme j'aime," was a mournful expression of Mad. de Stael's.
