TO catch at that which never can be caught,
To yearn for what thou never shall attain
(Nature’s own motions moving in the brain)
This is thy life and thou by her art taught.
This is her gift; to thee if welcome not
With all its store of passion and of pain,
Thou hast the power to give it back again
And break the bow before thou triest the shot.
Nay rather let me live to fight the fight
And die the death, when driven against the wall,
That many a man has fairly fought and died.
Then shall I keep the spark she gave me bright
(Gigantic mirth, that gave it to deride!)
And cast it at the heavens even as I fall.
(Philip Henry Savage)
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