[BNP/E3, 78 – 87]

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.