Futility

Oh,

I have tried to laugh the pain away,

Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather.

But the old fever seizes me to-day,

As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather.

I have given up myself to every urge,

With not a care of precious powers spent,

Have bared my body to the strangest scourge,

To soothe and deaden my heart's unhealing rent.

But you have torn a nerve out of my frame,

A gut that no physician can replace,

And reft my life of happiness and aim.

Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace?

What substance hold, what lovely form pursue,

When my thought burns through everything to you?