Tempts ere a tithe of Life be tasted. Live First, and die soon enough, Sordello! Give [Sidenote: If removed, at what cost to Sordello?] Body and spirit the first right they claim, And pasture soul on a voluptuous shame That you, a pageant-city's denizen, Are neither vilely lodged 'midst Lombard men-- Can force joy out of sorrow, seem to truck Bright attributes away for sordid muck, Yet manage from that very muck educe Gold; then subject nor scruple, to your cruce The world's discardings! Though real ingots pay Your pains, the clods that yielded them are clay To all beside,--would clay remain, though quenched Your purging-fire; who's robbed then? Had you wrenched An ampler treasure forth!--As 't is, they crave A share that ruins you and will not save Them. Why should sympathy command you quit The course that makes your joy, nor will remit Their woe? Would all arrive at joy? Reverse [Sidenote: Men win little thereby; he loses all:] The order (time instructs you) nor coerce Each unit till, some predetermined mode, The total be emancipate; men's road Is one, men's times of travel many; thwart No enterprising soul's precocious start Before the general march! If slow or fast All straggle up to the same point at last, Why grudge your having gained, a month ago, The brakes at balm-shed, asphodels in blow, While they were landlocked? Speed their Then, but how This badge would suffer you improve your Now!" His time of action for, against, or with Our world (I labor to extract the pith Of this his problem) grew, that even-tide, Gigantic with its power of joy, beside The world's eternity of impotence To profit though at his whole joy's expense. [Sidenote: For he can infinitely enjoy himself,] "Make nothing of my day because so brief? Rather make more: instead of joy, use grief Before its novelty have time subside! Wait not for the late savor, leave untried Virtue, the creaming honey-wine, quick squeeze Vice like a biting spirit from the lees Of life! Together let wrath, hatred, lust, All tyrannies in every shape, be thrust Upon this Now, which time may reason out As mischiefs, far from benefits, no doubt; But long ere then Sordello will have slipped Away; you teach him at Goito's crypt, There 's a blank issue to that fiery thrill. Stirring, the few cope with the many, still: So much of sand as, quiet, makes a mass Unable to produce three tufts of grass, Shall, troubled by the whirlwind, render void The whole calm glebe's endeavor: he employed! And e'en though somewhat smart the Crowd for this, Contribute each his pang to make your bliss, 'T is but one pang--one blood-drop to the bowl Which brimful tempts the sluggish asp uncowl At last, stains ruddily the dull red cape,