The Philosopher

Enough of thought, philosopher!Too long hast thou been dreamingUnlightened, in this chamber drear,While summer's sun is beaming!Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrainConcludes thy musings once again?

"Oh, for the time when I shall sleepWithout identity.And never care how rain may steep,Or snow may cover me!No promised heaven, these wild desiresCould all, or half fulfil;No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,Subdue this quenchless will!"

"So said I, and still say the same;Still, to my death, will say--Three gods, within this little frame,Are warring night; and day;Heaven could not hold them all, and yetThey all are held in me;And must be mine till I forgetMy present entity!Oh, for the time, when in my breastTheir struggles will be o'er!Oh, for the day, when I shall rest,And never suffer more!"

"I saw a spirit, standing, man,Where thou dost stand--an hour ago,And round his feet three rivers ran,Of equal depth, and equal flow--A golden stream--and one like blood;And one like sapphire seemed to be;But, where they joined their triple floodIt tumbled in an inky seaThe spirit sent his dazzling gazeDown through that ocean's gloomy night;Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze,The glad deep sparkled wide and bright--White as the sun, far, far more fairThan its divided sources were!"

"And even for that spirit, seer,I've watched and sought my life-time long;Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air,An endless search, and always wrong.Had I but seen his glorious eyeONCE light the clouds that wilder me;I ne'er had raised this coward cryTo cease to think, and cease to be;

I ne'er had called oblivion blest,Nor stretching eager hands to death,Implored to change for senseless restThis sentient soul, this living breath--Oh, let me die--that power and willTheir cruel strife may close;And conquered good, and conquering illBe lost in one repose!"