Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless.
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay,
And to be thus, eternally but this,
Having been otherwise!
Now furrowed o'er with wrinkles,
Plowed by moments not by time.
And hours all tortured into ages - hours,
Which I outlive! Ye toppling crags of ice,
Ye avelanches, whom a breath draws down,
In mountains o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
I have lived many long years, but they are nothing now,
To those which I must number ages - ages,
Space and eternity - and consciousness,
With the fierce thirst of death,
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break.
But nothing rests, surf carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks and the salt surf weeds of bitterness.
Cold bitterness.
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless.
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay,
And to be thus, eternally but this,
Having been otherwise!
How furrowed o'er with wrinkles,
Plowed by moments not by time,
And hours tortured into ages - hours
Which I outlive. Ye toppling crags of ice,
Ye avelanches, whom a breath draws down,
In mountains o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
