Part 54

But how shall finished creatures A function fresh obtain? -- Old Nicodemus' phantom Confronting us again!

XLV.

THE PAST.

The past is such a curious creature, To look her in the face A transport may reward us, Or a disgrace.

Unarmed if any meet her, I charge him, fly! Her rusty ammunition Might yet reply!

XLVI.

To help our bleaker parts Salubrious hours are given, Which if they do not fit for earth Drill silently for heaven.

XLVII.

What soft, cherubic creatures These gentlewomen are! One would as soon assault a plush Or violate a star.

Such dimity convictions, A horror so refined Of freckled human nature, Of Deity ashamed, --

It's such a common glory, A fisherman's degree! Redemption, brittle lady, Be so, ashamed of thee.

XLVIII.

DESIRE.

Who never wanted, -- maddest joy Remains to him unknown: The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine.

Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire's perfect goal, No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul.

XLIX.

PHILOSOPHY.

It might be easier To fail with land in sight, Than gain my blue peninsula To perish of delight.

POWER.

You cannot put a fire out; A thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a fan Upon the slowest night.

You cannot fold a flood And put it in a drawer, -- Because the winds would find it out, And tell your cedar floor.

LI.

A modest lot, a fame petite, A brief campaign of sting and sweet Is plenty! Is enough! A sailor's business is the shore, A soldier's -- balls. Who asketh more Must seek the neighboring life!

LII.

Is bliss, then, such abyss I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe?

I'd rather suit my foot Than save my boot, For yet to buy another pair Is possible At any fair.

But bliss is sold just once; The patent lost None buy it any more.

LIII.