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AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.
Such universal sound of lamentation I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; Nought else but all creation Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear,
Shuddering in the misery of its doom: My heart then rose a rebel against light, Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, Ingathering wrath and gloom, Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night.
Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, All impotent, all hateful, and all hate,That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt Of an imprisoning fate, And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate.
Agony to agony, deep called to deep, Out of the deep I called of my desire; My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; Mine eyes that would not weepOr sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep;
The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: A random thing I seemed without a mark, Racing without a goal, Adrift upon life's sea without an ark.
