Of all things human which are strange and wild This is perchance the wildest and most strange, And showeth man most utterly beguiled, To those who haunt that sunless City's range;That he bemoans himself for aye, repeating 5How Time is deadly swift, how life is fleeting, How naught is constant on the earth but change.
The hours are heavy on him and the days;
The burden of the months he scarce can bear;And often in his secret soul he prays 10To sleep through barren periods unaware, Arousing at some longed-for date of pleasure;Which having passed and yielded him small treasure, He would outsleep another term of care.
Yet in his marvellous fancy he must make15Quick wings for Time, and see it fly from us;This Time which crawleth like a monstrous snake, Wounded and slow and very venomous;Which creeps blindwormlike round the earth and ocean, Distilling poison at each painful motion, 20And seems condemned to circle ever thus.
And since he cannot spend and use aright The little time here given him in trust, But wasteth it in weary undelight Of foolish toil and trouble, strife and lust, 25He naturally claimeth to inherit The everlasting Future, that his merit May have full scope; as surely is most just.
O length of the intolerable hours, O nights that are as aeons of slow pain, 30O Time, too ample for our vital powers, O Life, whose woeful vanities remain Immutable for all of all our legions Through all the centuries and in all the regions, Not of your speed and variance WE complain.35WE do not ask a longer term of strife, Weakness and weariness and nameless woes;We do not claim renewed and endless life When this which is our torment here shall close, An everlasting conscious inanition! 40We yearn for speedy death in full fruition, Dateless oblivion and divine repose.
