Anima Anceps

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Till death have broken
Sweet life's love-token,
Till all be spoken
   That shall be said,
What dost thou praying,
O soul, and playing
With song and saying,
   Things flown and fled?
For this we know not—
That fresh springs flow not
And fresh griefs grow not
   When men are dead;
When strange years cover
Lover and lover,
And joys are over
   And tears are shed.

If one day's sorrow
Mar the day's morrow—
If man's life borrow
   And man's death pay—
If souls once taken,
If lives once shaken,
Arise, awaken,
   By night, by day—
Why with strong crying
And years of sighing,
Living and dying,
   Fast ye and pray?
For all your weeping,
Waking and sleeping,
Death comes to reaping
   And takes away.

Though time rend after
Roof-tree from rafter,
A little laughter
   Is much more worth
Than thus to measure
The hour, the treasure,
The pain, the pleasure,
   The death, the birth;
Grief, when days alter,
Like joy shall falter;
Song-book and psalter,
   Mourning and mirth.
Live like the swallow;
Seek not to follow
Where earth is hollow
   Under the earth.

Monadnock Valley Press > Swinburne