From the Book - First Scribner hardcover edition.
Meantime we shall express our darker purpose
Thou, nature, art my goddess
Now thou art an o without a figure
O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Poor Tom / that's something yet: Edgar I nothing am
O heavens! / if yourselves are old, / make it your cause
This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen
He chided as I fathered. / Tom, away
He that will think to live till he be old, / give me some help!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, / life would not yield to age
Humanity must perforce prey on itself, / like monsters of the deep
O ruined piece of nature, this great world / shall so wear out to naught
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound / upon a wheel of fire
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound / upon a wheel of fire
Men must endure / their going hence even as their coming hither. / ripeness is all
The gods are just and of our pleasant vices / make instruments to plague us
We that are young / shall never see so much, nor live so long.
