| |
| I SAID, This misery must end: | |
| Shall I, that am a man and know | |
| that sky and wind are yet my friend, | |
| sit huddled under any blow? | |
| so speaking left the dismal room | 5 |
| and stept into the mother-night | |
| all fill’d with sacred quickening gloom | |
| where the few stars burn’d low and bright, | |
| and darkling on my darkling hill | |
| heard thro’ the beaches’ sullen boom | 10 |
| heroic note of living will | |
| rung trumpet-clear against the fight; | |
| so stood and heard, and rais’d my eyes | |
| erect, that they might drink of space, | |
| and took the night upon my face, | 15 |
| till time and trouble fell away | |
| and all my soul sprang up to feel | |
| as one among the stars that reel | |
| in rhyme on their rejoicing way, | |
| breaking the elder dark, nor stay | 20 |
| but speed beyond each trammelling gyre, | |
| till time and sorrow fall away | |
| and night be wither’d up, and fire | |
| consume the sickness of desire. | |
| |
