But it is in passing ere,
Let me set it down now;
For it was in passing here,
The song that set me down,
Then bestowed itself at will,
The trust that I am is nigh
Shall feel me again in peril,
Is not the way but none so high,
Am not lost for I am the light,
What way yond is fought nor why;
In better voice is none to fight,
Is bled but is not the blade to hire,
Whence long have I sat ere the fire,
Nor never and never was in desire,
Nor to sorry those I have in dire
The strongest points I make in life,
Nor reason my curséd hate through rife,
Shall in haste write my wrongs to way,
Then in ernst belong ere belong to right,
That of my will is earnest to say
The fewest words I can utter to bite:
Never nor never was I never perfect,
My skin pales with every lie I scorn,
Where long I can never be more derect,
Is not my fading to white the more,
Nor born – that I was; to be, to be;
But lest I am thy wing to be creator,
Is not but a distant stranger to me
As much I am equal to be destroyer,
Let me be and so my mind to weave,
Is the barren soul that I possess,
Shall from left and right to heave
And from behind give long to process,
Ere hindrance cost is naught without
None wishing to know me the better,
Knowing myself I am then redout,
But I’ll come out a man the better.

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Life, Poetry, Works
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