My dreams are delicate and wild;
Was ever wise man so beguiled?—
Mad, am I mad!—then pray that you
May some day hope for madness too!
[THE SCHOLAR]
From what sweet masters have I fathomed doubt,
What love and laughter taught me to be blind;
How patient did they point the letters out
Latin and Greek to my bewildered mind.
Now I am very wise, I know the 'a'
The little 'a' of doubt's first faint distress
Then, letter perfect, I recall the way
Thro' all the alphabet of bitterness.
[WISDOM'S SECRET]
Coerced by Furies who persuaded me
That life was imminent with idleness,
Their jibes made mad, their lashes aided me
To grasp the accident of bitterness.
Come storm! I cried, come passion and despair,
For calm inhibits growth!—I called on fire
To sear my comfortable days, and wear
The nights to wastes of torment and desire.
Then pausing breathless, in a little wood
I met with Wisdom laughing in the sun;
She said, "Lie still, for idleness is good,
And grow in peace as I myself have done."