The very last thing I read, about an hour ago, was this. Not A Novel.
**Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow. **
**Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame. **
**Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
****And weave their petty cells and die.
****Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day. **
The very last thing I read, about an hour ago, was this. Not A Novel.
**Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow. **
**Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame. **
**Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
****And weave their petty cells and die.
****Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day. **