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DOUBT
I
Can we, by any strength of ours,
Thrust back this hostile world
That tears us from ourselves,
As a child from the womb,
A weak lover from light breasts?
Is there any hope?
Can we believe
That not in wild perversity,
In blinding cruelty,
Has flesh torn flesh,
Has soul been torn from soul?
Must we despair?
Throw back upon the gods this taunt
That even their loveliest is at best
Some ineffectual lie?
II
Sand in the gale whirls up,
Pricks and stifles our flesh,
Blinds and deafens our sense
So that we cannot hear
The crumbling downfall of the waves
Nor see the limpid sunset any more.
But could we thrust from us
This threat, this misery,
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