“Each life unfulfilled, you see;It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.”

“ Life In LoveEscape me?Never---Beloved!While I am I, and you are you,So long as the world contains us both,Me the loving and you the lothWhile the one eludes, must the other pursue.My life is a fault at last, I fear:It seems too much like a fate, indeed!Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.But what if I fail of my purpose here?It is but to keep the nerves at strain,To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,And, baffled, get up and begin again,---So the chace takes up one's life ' that's all.While, look but once from your farthest boundAt me so deep in the dust and dark,No sooner the old hope goes to groundThan a new one, straight to the self-same mark,I shape me---EverRemoved!”

“I.My first thought was, he lied in every word,That hoary cripple, with malicious eyeAskance to watch the workings of his lieOn mine, and mouth scarce able to affordSuppression of the glee, that pursed and scoredIts edge, at one more victim gained thereby.II.What else should he be set for, with his staff?What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnareAll travellers who might find him posted there,And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laughWould break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaphFor pastime in the dusty thoroughfare.III.If at his counsel I should turn asideInto that ominous tract which, all agree,Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescinglyI did turn as he pointed, neither prideNow hope rekindling at the end descried,So much as gladness that some end might be.IV.For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,What with my search drawn out through years, my hopeDwindled into a ghost not fit to copeWith that obstreperous joy success would bring,I hardly tried now to rebuke the springMy heart made, finding failure in its scope.V.As when a sick man very near to deathSeems dead indeed, and feels begin and endThe tears and takes the farewell of each friend,And hears one bit the other go, draw breathFreelier outside, ('since all is o'er,' he saithAnd the blow fallen no grieving can amend;')VI.When some discuss if near the other gravesbe room enough for this, and when a daySuits best for carrying the corpse away,With care about the banners, scarves and stavesAnd still the man hears all, and only cravesHe may not shame such tender love and stay.VII.Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writSo many times among 'The Band' to wit,The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressedTheir steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best,And all the doubt was now - should I be fit?VIII.So, quiet as despair I turned from him,That hateful cripple, out of his highwayInto the path he pointed. All the dayHad been a dreary one at best, and dimWas settling to its close, yet shot one grimRed leer to see the plain catch its estray.IX.For mark! No sooner was I fairly foundPledged to the plain, after a pace or two,Than, pausing to throw backwards a last viewO'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round;Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.I might go on, naught else remained to do.X.So on I went. I think I never sawSuch starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove!But cockle, spurge, according to their lawMight propagate their kind with none to awe,You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove.XI.No! penury, inertness and grimace,In some strange sort, were the land's portion. 'SeeOr shut your eyes,' said Nature peevishly,It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:Tis the Last Judgement's fire must cure this placeCalcine its clods and set my prisoners free.”

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!”

“But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.”

“Out of your whole life give but a moment!All of your life that has gone before,All to come after it, -so you ignore,So you make perfect the present, condense,In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment,Thought and feeling and soul and sense. ”

“Paracelsus At times I almost dreamI too have spent a life the sages’ way,And tread once more familiar paths. PerchanceI perished in an arrogant self-relianceAges ago; and in that act a prayerFor one more chance went up so earnest, soInstinct with better light let in by death,That life was blotted out — not so completelyBut scattered wrecks enough of it remain,Dim memories, as now, when once more seemsThe goal in sight again.”