GOOD spirits turn shuddering from scenes of decay, Mid-winter barrenness, autumnal rains, Pavements tenantless and no longer illuminated between night and day, Bleak houses issuing on unhealthy lanes. I, whom the dart of this sad universe Has pierced beyond all bleeding, whose dumb powers Rustle and heave and meditate a curse To waken hatred in the unweeting hours, Have wooed these things, and in confusion find A vision of my futility; possess A symbol, there, of my disordered mind; The tangible form of my own worthlessness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MICHAEL; A PASTORAL POEM by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE FOUNTAIN OF PITY by HENRY BATAILLE ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE by ROBERT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: CORDELIA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE BOOKWORM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE SON OF MELANCHOLY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |