The wasted years of labour spent In fruitless talk and argument, Desire dreamed yet once-fulfilled No desire is ever stilled, Turmoil of the groping mind The streams of thought that turn and wind And nowhere lead but there and back As in an endless cul-de-sac, But now the peace descending flows, A settling calm and wideness grows And all the outer being yearns To know the light that in us burns As spirit-flame, the soul, aspires To reach those vast immortal fires As uniting leaf and branch of tree Stretches towards its destiny.
Poems Undated (1727)
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