I What further seeds of wisdom need I seek When all my thoughts are yet mean and bleak; When endless knowledge results not in truth, Nor in sagacity, but in a shadowy, endless room? I have pursued the infinite, whispering wind. To what end? May I still sadly belate. To watch my fears slowly, softly take me hold, Or silently to behold the swirling tides explode. What more use have I in picking flowers If I should only to stand to wait beside the hours, The days, each second counting the soul: Wasted, gone with everything before my eyes unknown. All doubts duly teaming tear my fragile sanity from sight As the lethargy, committing me to early death, delights. As for you, quick death, could I breath anew? Or, would again my doubts continue to ensue? Happiness, in lively step I should cheer; Melting to pure ecstasy would my memories but leave me here, But these shadows beyond should conspire to pull me back. Damn this eternity! Damn this wretched, infernal trap! No other bonds, indeed, desp
Everything is open to the winds of chance.