For all the lore of Lodge and Myers <br />I cannot heal my torn desires, <br />Nor hope for all that man can speer <br />To make the riddling earth grow clear. <br />Though it were sure and proven well <br />That I shall prosper, as they tell, <br />In fields beneath a different sun <br />By shores where other oceans run, <br />When this live body that was I <br />Lies hidden from the cheerful sky, <br />Yet what were endless lives to me <br />If still my narrow self I be <br />And hope and fail and struggle still, <br />And break my will against God's will, <br />To play for stakes of pleasure and pain <br />And hope and fail and hope again, <br />Deluded, thwarted, striving elf <br />That through the window of my self <br />As through a dark glass scarce can see <br />A warped and masked reality? <br />But when this searching thought of mine <br />Is mingled in the large Divine, <br />And laughter that was in my mouth <br />Runs through the breezes of the South, <br />When glory I have built in dreams <br />Along some fiery sunset gleams, <br />And my dead sin and foolishness <br />Grow one with Nature's whole distress, <br />To perfect being I shall win, <br />And where I end will Life begin<br /><br />Clive Staples Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tu-ne-quaesieris/
