These quiet ways I will not tolerate, Lulling my senses to forgetfulness; Passion and feeling growing less and less, Till at the end, immobile, insensate, Meekly submitting to the turns of fate My spirit shrink from every strain and stress Into negation, into nothingness, Too late to love, too lethargic to hate. Still in my veins the stream of life runs red; Waters of Lethe give to other lips; Let me but weave a gold and purple thread Into life's pattern, before Atropis clips Short at the end, the tapestry complete, -- Let me go down in action, not retreat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LINES ON HEARING THE ORGAN by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE CHURCH OF A DREAM; TO BERNHARD BERENSON by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK by HERMAN MELVILLE DANUBE AND THE EUXINE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN GOUZEAUCOURT: THE DECEITFUL CALM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN GRISELDA: CHAPTER 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 25, ASKING FOR HER HEART (3) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |