ABSTRACT
John Addington Symonds. From The Sea Calls, 1884. Written September 1881–April 1882. Take it, oh take it, take thy gold! The shame Shall rest with me, the bitter barren bliss Of dreaming on a joy so brief as this. Thou hast no suffering, and, I think, no blame. Abide for me the everlasting flame, The worm that dies not, and the snakes that hiss Round souls that seek impossibilities, Lost in their lake of longing without aim. Is there no spell then to assuage this smart? None; for we truly know not what we crave. Knowing, we might appease the clamorous heart: But lust contents it not; and storms that rave O’er the soul’s seas, are stilled by no fine art. Ah God, will peace be found even in the grave?
