Before me lies a mass of shapeless days, <br />Unseparated atoms, and I must <br />Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust <br />Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays, <br />There are none, ever. As a monk who prays <br />The sliding beads asunder, so I thrust <br />Each tasteless particle aside, and just <br />Begin again the task which never stays. <br />And I have known a glory of great suns, <br />When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire! <br />Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire, <br />And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs! <br />Spilt is that liquor, my too hasty hand <br />Threw down the cup, and did not understand.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-blockhead/
