Chapter 34 Insufficiency

When I attain to utter forth in verse Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly Along my pulses, yearning to be free And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse To the individual, true, and the universe, In consumption of right harmony: But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree, We are blown against for ever by the curse Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak ! The effect of each is false to all, And what we best conceive we fail to speak. Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall, And then resume thy broken strains, and seek Fit peroration without let or thrall.