Afterword

The old enthusiasms Are dead, quite dead, in me; Dead the aspiring spasms Of art and poesy, That opened magic chasms, Once, of wild mystery, In youth’s rich Araby, Aladdin-wondrous chasms.

The longing and the care Are mine; and, helplessly, The heartache and despair For what can never be. More than my mortal share Of sad mortality, It seems, God gives to me, More than my mortal share.

O world! O time! O fate! Remorseless trinity! Let not your wheel abate Its iron rotary!-- Turn round! nor make me wait, Bound to it neck and knee, Hope’s final agony!-- Turn round! nor make me wait.