THE BURIED LIFE Light flows our war of mocking words; and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! Alas! is even love too weak 10 But often, in the din of strife, course; A longing to inquire 50 Into the mystery of this heart which beats So wild, so deep in us, to know Whence our lives come, and where they go. And many a man in his own breast then delves, 55 But deep enough, alas! none ever mines. And we have been on many thousand lines, And we have shown, on each, spirit and power; But hardly have we, for one little hour, Been on our own line, have we been ourselves, 60 Hardly had skill to utter one of all our breast, |