Fourteen sonnets and poems/Spontaneity

And that, unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!


TEMPT me no more; I will not be delayed
In hope, or balked in what I know is mine;
Yet not for me is there of worth displayed,
In use or store that's not already thine.
Spectacle for the eye in dimness cast,
And prophet's vision other than for me;
The mighty "Now" withholds no insight past,
Or potent speech, that life might better be.
That which is vital, first and always new,
I sense myself, nor need to take in trust
The probability of what is true
From "storied urn or animated bust."
Thus shall life's morning never know decline,
And all that is or can be shall be thine and mine.