Amy Lowell

BEFORE me lies a mass of shapeless days,

Unseparated atoms, and I must

Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust

Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,

There are none, ever. As a monk who prays

The sliding beads asunder, so I thrust

Each tasteless particle aside, and just

Begin again the task which never stays.

And I have known a glory of great suns,

When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire!

Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire,

And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs!

Spilt is that liquor, my too hasty hand

Threw down the cup, and did not understand.