Counter Mood
LET this be scattered far and wide, laid lowUpon the waters as they fall and rise,Be caught and carried by the winds that blow,Nor let it be arrested by the skies:I who am mortal say I shall not die;I who am dust of this am positive,That though my nights tend toward the grave, yet IShall on some brighter day arise, and live.
Ask me not how I am oracular,Nor whence this arrogant assurance springs.Ask rather Faith the canny conjurer,(Who while your reason mocks him mystifiesWinning the grudging plaudits of your eyes)—How suddenly the supine egg has wings.
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