Part 8

It's past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless, -- the disease Not even God can heal; For 't is his institution, -- The complement of hell.

XLIV.

THE SHELTER.

The body grows outside, -- The more convenient way, -- That if the spirit like to hide, Its temple stands alway

Ajar, secure, inviting; It never did betray The soul that asked its shelter In timid honesty.

XLV.

Undue significance a starving man attaches To food Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless, And therefore good.

Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us That spices fly In the receipt. It was the distance Was savory.

XLVI.

Heart not so heavy as mine, Wending late home, As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune, --

A careless snatch, a ballad, A ditty of the street; Yet to my irritated ear An anodyne so sweet,

It was as if a bobolink, Sauntering this way, Carolled and mused and carolled, Then bubbled slow away.

It was as if a chirping brook Upon a toilsome way Set bleeding feet to minuets Without the knowing why.

To-morrow, night will come again, Weary, perhaps, and sore. Ah, bugle, by my window, I pray you stroll once more!

XLVII.

I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea,

And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.

XLVIII.

Unto my books so good to turn Far ends of tired days; It half endears the abstinence, And pain is missed in praise.

As flavors cheer retarded guests With banquetings to be, So spices stimulate the time Till my small library.

It may be wilderness without, Far feet of failing men, But holiday excludes the night, And it is bells within.

I thank these kinsmen of the shelf; Their countenances bland Enamour in prospective, And satisfy, obtained.

XLIX.

This merit hath the worst, -- It cannot be again. When Fate hath taunted last And thrown her furthest stone,

The maimed may pause and breathe, And glance securely round. The deer invites no longer Than it eludes the hound.

HUNGER.

I had been hungry all the years; My noon had come, to dine; I, trembling, drew the table near, And touched the curious wine.