PROEM

So let them pass, these songs of mine,

Into oblivion, nor repine;

Abandoned ruins of large schemes,

Dimmed lights adrift from nobler dreams,

Weak wings I sped on quests divine,

So let them pass, these songs of mine.

They soar, or sink ephemeral —

I care not greatly which befall!

For if no song I e'er had wrought,

Still have I loved and laughed and fought;

So let them pass, these songs of mine;

I sting too hot with life to whine!

Still shall I struggle, fail, aspire,

Lose God, and find Gods in the mire,

And drink dream-deep life's heady wine —

So let them pass, these songs of mine.