my reach now often fails my grasp -
confusion replaces regret,
obligation taunts me from tomorrow -
to do again what was done before.
how then might i notice and do -
with ambition so withered?
how might hope be gently held -
to better keep promises?
difficult and grateful days go by -
what more than these stories am i?
pervasive fatigue now my companion.
i awake, underfull of thought,
and overfull of sadness, i remember -
a bird singing.
....And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape
As if I saw alike my work and self
And all that I was born to be and do,
A twilight-piece... ...Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?..
...i am grown peaceful as old age to-night.
I regret little, I would change still less..
..In this world, who can do a thing, will not;
And who would do it, cannot, I perceive:
Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, too, the power--
And thus we half-men struggle..
excerpts from "Andrea del Sarto" by Robert Browning"
an ennui of age not unlike that of del Sarto is gripping me.
though i too feel "a man's reach should exceed his grasp"
and that having "grown peaceful as old age" also feels very "half-men" like.