Half shown, are broken and withdrawn. But thou canst answer not again. With thine own weapon art thou slain, Or thou wilt answer but in vain. The doubt would rest, I dare not solve. In the same circle we revolve.
Assurance only breeds resolve.
As when a billow, blown against, Falls back, the voice with which I fenced A little ceased, but recommenced. In days that never come again. I cannot make this matter plain, But I would shoot, howe er in vain, A random arrow from the brain. It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round. As old mythologies relate, Some draught of Lethe might await The slipping thro from state to state.