23.07.2007, 10:34
A thousand walls immure your days,--and yet
What are they all when, of the thousand, one
Has fallen beneath the curious urge and fret
Of you toward me, of me toward you begun?
When the first fell, I shuddered half-aghast;
The second, now a-crumble in my sight,
Predicts less thunder than the fall late past;
And I await the third with clear delight.
Mingled with all the phantoms of my fear
Are lights of utter lure. Wherefore I choose
To linger watching, thou right well I bear
Knowledge that naught's to gain and much to lose,--
And that there is reserved Hell's choicest flame
For pairs of fools who play this silly game.
What are they all when, of the thousand, one
Has fallen beneath the curious urge and fret
Of you toward me, of me toward you begun?
When the first fell, I shuddered half-aghast;
The second, now a-crumble in my sight,
Predicts less thunder than the fall late past;
And I await the third with clear delight.
Mingled with all the phantoms of my fear
Are lights of utter lure. Wherefore I choose
To linger watching, thou right well I bear
Knowledge that naught's to gain and much to lose,--
And that there is reserved Hell's choicest flame
For pairs of fools who play this silly game.