LV
I muse, but in my musings I recall
The days of my iniquity; we're all—
An arrow shot across the wilderness,
Somewhither, in the wilderness must fall.
LVI
I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour
The tears of scorn and melancholy sore;
I who am shattered by the hand of Doubt,
Like glass to be remoulded nevermore.
60
