RAGE

        I feel a rage - ay, a rage!

At time that passes, passes away,

A thirst of life nought can assuage,

        An anger that nothing can stay.

And every hour that passes by

        And merges into night a day

Makes, when I think, my soul to cry:

«Torture eternal, torture without end!

        All days pass and not a deed!

        A desire strong as a greed

By an ill of will - oh, misery!

To be a dream of pain condemned!»

I feel a rage! 'tis to feel

Mystery and sadness at one time,

        Till the maddened brain doth reel,

Looking on that bodiless curse.

The passing of the world, as one

Paralytic at a deed of blood

Which he hath no power to avert.

I feel a stranger before the sun,

        A weeper before field and flood,

        A cynic before dirt,

        A revolt before God.