AT length the then of my long hope was now; <br />Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest: <br />I knew the good from better was grown best <br />At length, but could not just as yet tell how. <br />So I lay straight along, and thrust my brow <br />Under the heights of grass. Hours struck. The West, <br />I knew, must be at change; but gazed not, lest <br />The heat against my naked face (no bough <br />For shade) should tease me mad, like poisoned spice. <br />I lay along, letting my whole self think, <br />Pressing my brow down that the thoughts might fix: <br />Just as a dicer who holds loaded dice, <br />Sure of his cast, keeps trifling with his drink <br />Ere he will throw, and still must taste and mix.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-foretaste/
