Human Life

If dead, we cease to be; if total gloomSwallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fareAs summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,Whose sound and motion not alone declare,But are their whole of being! If the BreathBe Life itself, and not its Task and Tent,If ev'n a soul like Milton's can know death;O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant,Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes,Surplus of nature's dread activity,Which, as she gaz'd on some nigh-finish'd vase,Retreating slow, with meditative pause,She form'd with restless hands unconsciously.Blank accident! nothing's anomaly!If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state,Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy Hopes thy Fears,The counter- weights!—Thy Laughter and thy TearsMean but themselves, each fittest to create

And to repay the other! Why rejoicesThy heart with hollow joy for hollow good,Why cowl thy face beneath the Mourner's hood,Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf,That such a thing, as thou, feel'st warm or cold!Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withholdThese costless shadows of thy shadowy self!)Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun!Thou hast no reason why! Thou can'st have none!Thy being's being is contradiction.