I wake and hearing it raining.
Were I dead, what would I give
Lazily to lie here,
Like this, and live?
After long drought, commotion in the sky;
After dead silence, thunder. Then it comes,
The rain. It slashes leaves, and doubly drums
On tin and shingle; beats and bends awry
not even change,
That can grow tired
of it's own name;
Listen, The wind is still,
And far away in the night --
See! The uplands fill
With a running light.
How far is it to peace, the piper sighed,
The solitary, sweating as he paused.
Asphalt the noon; the ravens, terrified,
Fled carrion thunder that percussion caused.
That God should love me is more wonderful
Than that I so imperfectly love him.
My reason is mortality, and dim
Senses; his--oh, insupportable--
The deepest dream is of mad governors,
Down, down we feel it, till the very crust
Of the world cracks, and where there was no dust,
Atoms of ruin rise. Confusion stirs,
Love me little, love me long,
Then we neither can be wrong:
You in giving, I in taking;
There is nor a heart breaking
Equality is absolute or no.
Nothing between can stand. We are the sons
Of the same sire, or madness breaks and runs
Through the rude world. Ridiculous our woe
Whatever I have left unsaid
When I am dead
O'muse forgive me.
You were always there,