I Go, I Go, Look

How My Achievements Mock Me!

I Hold It Cowardice To Rest Mistrustful Where A Noble Heart Hath Pawned An Open Hand In Sign Of Love.

Alas, That Love, Whose View Is Muffled Still, Should Without Eyes See Pathways To His Will!

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

O Time, Thou Must Untangle This, Not I. It Is Too Hard A Knot For Me T'untie.