This rashness,[6] that which might ensue
With this old soul in organs new?
'Whatever crazy sorrow saith,
No life that breathes with human breath
Has ever truly longed for death.
''Tis life whereof our nerves are scant,
Oh life, not death for which we pant;
More life, and fuller that I want.'
I ceased, and sate as one forlorn.
Then said the voice in quiet scorn,