Or like toddlers whom paltry toys amaze…

Or like toddlers whom paltry toys amaze,

So men’s obscure lives disorient them like a maze;

Whose exits and entries appear phantasms,

Perceived now, no more then, like plangent figures in ghostly dreams:

As such things are, past wit, where wits poorest fare,

Silly jacks prosper best, playing life by the ear!

For where’s he knows how the awry wind blows

But in doubles and deviations like do hounded roes

Were he best to go, embraced whereso he’ll end;

And there his quietus from panting life, and friend?


Swan is swan, though swan in mud; or gold gold, gold set in lead!

Why shift I then to please, that please my self to know;

Nor riches seek, that bethink seeking trunk-hollow?

Fortune houndeth Excellence ‘cross holes, and keeps in dread!

Belike self-quest is the fir, e’ergreen and still pricks,

Needle-like, the mind, to make mad the questant for discovery;

Drive him far from home to woods dark-sorcering and lowery:

As like it doth me, and becks me forth by tricks!

Far therefore and wide the world I peregrinate,

Like unpenned fowls of the rocks disintegrate!


Swallows are home abroad, I am without nooks;

Nor rest I have, to settle to my books!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on June 6, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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