How can I think, or edge my thoughts to action,
When the miserly press of each day's
Aches to a narrowness of spilled
My soul appalled at the world's work's time-greed?
How can I pause my thoughts upon the
My soul was born to think that it must
When every moment has a thought to
To fit the immediate craving of its cue?
The coin I'd heap for marrying my
And build our home i'th' greater
Becomes dissolved by needs of each day's
And I feel beggared of infinity, Like a true-Christian sinner, each day flesh-driven By his own act to forfeit his wished heaven.
