Self to self

Would'st thou then happy be
On earth, where woes are many?
Where naught can make agree
Men paid for wage a penny?
Wherein ambition hath
Set up proud gate to Death;
And fame with trump and drum
Cannot undeaf the dumb
Who unto dust are come?
Would'st thou then happy be?—

Maybe, when reasons rule
Dunces kept in at school;
Or while mere Logic peers
Sand-blind at her bright shears
Snip-snapping this, and this,
Ay, on my soul, it is—
Till, looking up, thou see
Noonday's immensity,
And, turning back, see too
That in a bead of dew.

Heart-near or fancy-far,
All's thine to make or mar.
Thine its sole consciousness,
Whether thou ban or bless.
Loving delight forgot,
Life's very roots must rot.
Be it for better or worse,
Thou art thy universe.
If then at length thou must
Render them both to dust,
Go with their best in trust.
If thou wake never—well:
But if perchance thou find
Light, that brief gloom behind,
Thou'lt have wherewith to tell
If thou'rt in heaven or hell!
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