How can we find? how can we rest? how can <br />We, being gods, win joy, or peace, being man? <br />We, the gaunt zanies of a witless Fate, <br />Who love the unloving and lover hate, <br />Forget the moment ere the moment slips, <br />Kiss with blind lips that seek beyond the lips, <br />Who want, and know not what we want, and cry <br />With crooked mouths for Heaven, and throw it by. <br />Love's for completeness! No perfection grows <br />'Twixt leg, and arm, elbow, and ear, and nose, <br />And joint, and socket; but unsatisfied <br />Sprawling desires, shapeless, perverse, denied. <br />Finger with finger wreathes; we love, and gape, <br />Fantastic shape to mazed fantastic shape, <br />Straggling, irregular, perplexed, embossed, <br />Grotesquely twined, extravagantly lost <br />By crescive paths and strange protuberant ways <br />From sanity and from wholeness and from grace. <br />How can love triumph, how can solace be, <br />Where fever turns toward fever, knee toward knee? <br />Could we but fill to harmony, and dwell <br />Simple as our thought and as perfectible, <br />Rise disentangled from humanity <br />Strange whole and new into simplicity, <br />Grow to a radiant round love, and bear <br />Unfluctuant passion for some perfect sphere, <br />Love moon to moon unquestioning, and be <br />Like the star Lunisequa, steadfastly <br />Following the round clear orb of her delight, <br />Patiently ever, through the eternal night!<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-on-the-shape-of-the-human-body/
