Praise is deeper than the lips

At last awake from life, that insane dream we take for waking now.

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.

How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.

Make no more giants, God!But elevate the race at once!