The uncharged cannon mocking still the spark
When come, which ere come it had loudly claimed.
Am I to let it be so still? For truly
The need exists, I know; the wish but sleeps
(Sleeps, and anon will wake and cry for food);
And to put by these unreturning gifts,
Because the feeling is not with me now,
Seems folly more than merest babyhood’s.
But must I then do violence to myself,
And push on nature, force desire (that’s ill),