A New Metre: Poetry Archive

“Oh that my words . . . were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever!” —Job 19:24

Of Fate

What is this stuff we think is Life,
and what has Life to offer me?
As high and high she lets me climb,
I see below me rocks and crags;
and ponder Life — how long ’twill be
before she lets me slip.

Life has let me rise this far —
indeed, has lifted hand o’er foot
to bring me hence! — but to what end?
The crags and catches many are
on which to break me and to put
an end to this dead soul.

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