birdsong

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.

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Notes: ....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.

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