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When NOTHING became conscious, it made a bad
This consciousness acquired individuality: a worse
The Hermit asked for love; worst bargain of all.
And now he has let his girl go to America, to have
"success" in "life": blank loss.
Is there no end to this immortal ache
That haunts me, haunts me sleeping or awake?
If I had Laylah, how could I forget
Time, Age, and Death?  Insufferable fret!
Were I an hermit, how could I support
The pain of consciousness, the curse of thought?
Even were I THAT, there still were one sore
The Abyss that stretches between THAT and
Still, the first step is not so far away:-
The Mauretania sails on Saturday!




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