In laziness, in senseless feasts In the craziness of ruinous license, In thraldom, poverty, and homeless deserts My wasted years there I behold. Of friends again I hear the treacherous greeting Games amid of love and wine. To the heart again insults brings Irrepressible the cold world. No joy for me,--and calmly before me Of visions young two now rise: Two tender shades, two angels me Given by fate in the days of yore. But both have wings and flaming swords, And they watch--... and both are vengeant, And both to me speak with death tongue Of Eternity's mysteries, and of the grave. 1828. ELEGY. IV. 85. My wishes I have survived, My ambition I have outgrown! Left only is my smart, The fruit of emptiness of heart. Under the storm of cruel Fate Faded has my blooming crown! Sad I live and lonely, And wait: Is nigh my end? Thus touched by the belated frost, When storm's wintry whistle is heard, On the branch bare and lone Trembles the belated leaf. 1821. RESURRECTION. IV. 116. With sleepy brush the barbarian artist The master's painting blackens; And thoughtlessly his wicked drawing Over it he is daubing. But in years the foreign colors Peal off, an aged layer: The work of genius is 'gain before us, With former beauty out it comes. Thus my failings vanish too From my wearied soul, And again within it visions rise, Of my early purer days. 1819 THE PROPHET. IV. 19. Tormented by the thirst for the spirit I was dragging myself in a sombre desert, And a six-winged seraph appeared Unto me on the parting of the roads. With fingers as light as a dream Mine eyes he touched: And mine eyes opened wise Like the eyes of a frightened eagle; He touched mine ears, And they filled with din and ringing. And I heard the trembling of the heavens And the flight of the angel's wings, And the creeping of the polyps in the sea, And the growth of the vine in the valley. And he took hold of my lips, And out he tore my sinful tongue With its empty and false speech. And the fang of the wise serpent Between my terrified lips he placed With bloody hand. And ope he cut with sword my breast, And out he took my trembling heart, And a coal with flaming blaze Into the opened breast he shoved. Like a corpse I lay in the desert. And the voice of God unto me called: Arise, O prophet, and listen, and guide. Be thou filled with my will, And going over land and sea Fire with the word the hearts of men! 1826. Poems: Narrative. THE OUTCAST. III. 5.