“No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief”

  • “No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,”

  • No worst, there is none.   Pitched past pitch of grief,
  • More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
  • Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
  • Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
  • My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
  • Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
  • Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked ‘No ling-
  • ering!  Let me be fell: force I must be brief’.
  • O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
  • Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.  Hold them cheap
  • May who ne’er hung there.  Nor does long our small
  • Durance deal with that steep or deep.  Here! creep,
  • Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
  • Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
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