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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392040" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dread Of Height</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not the Circean wine<br>Most perilous is for pain:<br>Grapes of the heavens' star-loaden vine,<br>Whereto the lofty-placed<br>Thoughts of fair souls attain,<br>Tempt with a more retributive delight,<br>And do disrelish all life's sober taste.<br>'Tis to have drunk too well<br>The drink that is divine,<br>Maketh the kind earth waste,<br>And breath intolerable.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah me!<br>How shall my mouth content it with mortality?<br>Lo, secret music, sweetest music,<br>From distances of distance drifting its lone flight,<br>Down the arcane where Night would perish in night,<br>Like a god's loosened locks slips undulously:<br>Music that is too grievous of the height<br>For safe and low delight,<br>Too infinite,<br>For bounded hearts which yet would girth the sea!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So let it be,<br>Though sweet be great, and though my heart be small:<br>So let it be,<br>O music, music, though you wake in me<br>No joy, no joy at all;<br>Although you only wake<br>Uttermost sadness, measure of delight,<br>Which else I could not credit to the height,<br>Did I not know,<br>That ill is statured to its opposite;<br>Did I not know,<br>And even of sadness so,<br>Of utter sadness make,<br>Of extreme sad a rod to mete<br>The incredible excess of unsensed sweet,<br>And mystic wall of strange felicity.<br>So let it be,<br>Though sweet be great, and though my heart be small,<br>And bitter meat<br>The food of gods for men to eat;<br>Yea, John ate daintier, and did tread<br>Less ways of heat,<br>Than whom to their wind-carpeted<br>High banquet-hall,<br>And golden love-feasts, the fair stars entreat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ah withal,<br>Some hold, some stay,<br>O difficult Joy, I pray,<br>Some arms of thine,<br>Not only, only arms of mine!<br>Lest like a weary girl I fall<br>From clasping love so high,<br>And lacking thus thine arms, then may<br>Most hapless I<br>Turn utterly to love of basest rate;<br>For low they fall whose fall is from the sky.<br>Yea, who me shall secure<br>But I of height grown desperate<br>Surcease my wing, and my lost fate<br>Be dashed from pure<br>To broken writhings in the shameful slime:<br>Lower than man, for I dreamed higher,<br>Thrust down, by how much I aspire,<br>And damned with drink of immortality?<br>For such things be,<br>Yea, and the lowest reach of reeky Hell<br>Is but made possible<br>By forta'en breath of Heaven's austerest clime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These tidings from the vast to bring<br>Needeth not doctor nor divine,<br>Too well, too well<br>My flesh doth know the heart-perturbing thing;<br>That dread theology alone<br>Is mine,<br>Most native and my own;<br>And ever with victorious toil<br>When I have made<br>Of the deific peaks dim escalade,<br>My soul with anguish and recoil<br>Doth like a city in an earthquake rock,<br>As at my feet the abyss is cloven then,<br>With deeper menace than for other men,<br>Of my potential cousinship with mire;<br>That all my conquered skies do grow a hollow mock,<br>My fearful powers retire,<br>No longer strong,<br>Reversing the shook banners of their song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, for a heart less native to high Heaven,<br>A hooded eye, for jesses and restraint,<br>Or for a will accipitrine to pursue!<br>The veil of tutelar flesh to simple livers given,<br>Or those brave-fledging fervours of the Saint,<br>Whose heavenly falcon-craft doth never taint,<br>Nor they in sickest time their ample virtue mew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Thompson">Francis Thompson</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=392040" data-title="The Dread Of Height de Francis Thompson" data-description="Not the Circean wine
Most perilous is for pain:
Grapes of the heavens' star-loaden vine,
Whereto the lofty-placed
Thoughts of fair souls attain,
Tempt with a more retributive delight,
And do disrelish all life's sober taste.
'Tis to have drunk too..."></div>
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