HALL it be after the long misery
Of easeless pillows, and the waste of flesh
In sickness, till some worn and widening mesh
Frays out at last, and lets the soul go free?
Or, shall some violent accident suddenly
Dismiss it, or some black cloud in the brain
Lower till life maddens against the amain?
Where, in what land, or on what lonely sea?
When, in the light of what unrisen sun?
Under what fatal planet? There is none
Can tell, or know aught but that it shall be:
The one thing certain which all other things
Have taught my being in its inmost springs
To feel the sole impossibility.