[BNP/E3, 78B – 16]

Winter Day

And the restless inaction of my brain

That idly and striving doth strain

Unto an easy science to be had

With intuitive fulness, that the mad

Ache of the will to study and to think

And yet † even on the brink

Of them, may[1] stop and wrap itself in light

Or in a Unity of complete night.

[16^v]

Happy I cannot be, for {…} hide

At the guts of my sorrow a weak pride

And empty craving anguish and a sore

Of heart that hurts and hurts to become more.

[1] may ^/might\