If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, So much as gladness that some end might be. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope My heart made, finding failure in its scope. 24 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears, and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bid the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, (“since all is o'er," he saith, 29 "And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;") While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves: And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. 35 No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land's portion. "See Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly, "It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: 'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place, Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free." 66 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to balk All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds, call? Master- -a... Cosimo of the Medici, I' the house that caps the corner. were best! ΙΟ Boh! you Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! 20 But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle, that man is! Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends. Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health 40 And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped! To roam the town and sing out carnival, mew, my A-painting for the great man, saints and saints Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, And after them. I came up with the fun If I've been merry, what matter who knows? 70 |