This strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry, its divided aims. |
Tired of knocking at Preferment's door. |
To have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive |
Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go? / Soon will the high midsummer pomps come on. |
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men |
Unquiet souls. In the dark fermentation of earth, in the never idle workshop of nature, in the eternal movement, yea shall find yourselves again. |
Use your gifts faithfully, and they shall be enlarged; practice what you know, and you shall attain to higher knowledge |
Use your gifts faithfully, and they shall be enlarged; practice what you know, and you shall attain to higher knowledge |
Waiting for the spark from heaven to fall. |
Wandering between two worlds, one dead,/ The other powerless to be born. |
We cannot kindle when we will / The fire which in the heart resides, / The spirit bloweth and is still, / In mystery our soul abides. |
When we first saw the news of the bombing we didn't know he was out there [in Bali], |
Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole: / The mellow glory of the Attic stage. |
With close-lipped Patience for our only friend, Sad Patience, too near neighbor to Despair. |
Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, / More fortunate, alas! than we, / Which without hardness will be sage, / And gay without frivolity. |