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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343170" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Felo de Se</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">With Apologies to Mr. Swinburne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>For repose I have sighed and have struggled ; have sigh'd and have struggled in vain;<br>I am held in the Circle of Being and caught in the Circle of Pain.<br>I was wan and weary with life ; my sick soul yearned for death;<br>I was weary of women and war and the sea and the wind's wild breath;<br>I cull'd sweet poppies and crush'd them, the blood ran rich and red:--<br>And I cast it in crystal chalice and drank of it till I was dead.<br>And the mould of the man was mute, pulseless in ev'ry part,<br>The long limbs lay on the sand with an eagle eating the heart.<br>Repose for the rotting head and peace for the putrid breast,<br>But for that which is 'I' indeed the gods have decreed no rest;<br>No rest but an endless aching, a sorrow which grows amain:--<br>I am caught in the Circle of Being and held in the Circle of Pain.<br>Bitter indeed is Life, and bitter of Life the breath,<br>But give me Life and its ways and its men, if this be Death.<br>Wearied I once of the Sun and the voices which clamour'd around:<br>Give them me back--in the sightless depths there is neither light nor sound.<br>Sick is my soul, and sad and feeble and faint as it felt<br>When (far, dim day) in the fair flesh-fane of the body it dwelt.<br>But then I could run to the shore, weeping and weary and weak;<br>See the waves' blue sheen and feel the breath of the breeze on my cheek:<br>Could wail with the wailing wind; strike sharply the hands in despair;<br>Could shriek with the shrieking blast, grow frenzied and tear the hair;<br>Could fight fierce fights with the foe or clutch at a human hand;<br>And weary could lie at length on the soft, sweet, saffron sand. . .<br>I have neither a voice nor hands, nor any friend nor a foe;<br>I am I--just a Pulse of Pain--I am I, that is all I know.<br>For Life, and the sickness of Life, and Death and desire to die;--<br>They have passed away like the smoke, here is nothing but Pain and I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Levy">Amy Levy</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343170" data-title="Felo de Se de Amy Levy" data-description="With Apologies to Mr. Swinburne.


For repose I have sighed and have struggled ; have sigh'd and have struggled in vain;
I am held in the Circle of Being and caught in the Circle of Pain.
I was wan and weary with life ; my sick soul yearned for de..."></div>
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