Not, I'll not, carrion
comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may
be — these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry
I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day
come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible,
why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot
rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
