Emptiness unsatisfiedThe hollow wind shifts inside.So life is this? well, I shall tryA little longer: take my share;And then resume more native airAnd let this world of things go by.
Back to childhood: once despisedRefuge of the fact-tyrannised.But now my hold on solid factWeakens, and all will to act.And how I long to know againThat early and immediate reign.
Now sight begins to grime and wasteAnd smell to drown on the windy stone,Touch comes not, now withers taste,Ear turns interpreter alone;My solid world to misty dreamingAnd equal real each nightmare's seeming.
They are all gone, life's vivid motion,Sense, excitement, struggle, pain;Blank lines roll out time's revolutionAnd revived revolve again.Nothing to do, nowhere to go,No point at all in being at all,Not worth saying, nothing to know,No point in anything at all.I want--I don't want--the not wantingLeaves the need, but stops the acting,Nothing worth the winning or saving,And the narrow life contracting.
And the thin trickle in the dirty ground"Runs with a dull, unvaried, saddening sound."
