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CANTO VI.
Dyscomfyture.
As one who strives a hill to climb.
Who never climbed before:
Who finds it, in a little time.
Grow every moment less sublime.
And votes the thing a bore:
Yet, having once begun to try,
Dares not desert his quest,
But, climbing, ever keeps his eye
On one small hut against the sky,
Wherein he hopes to rest:
Who climbs till nerve and force are spent,
With many a puff and pant:
Who still, as rises the ascent.
In language grows more violent.
Although in breath more scant:
