If it ever be
That thou and I should bring
One to the other suffering
Of loss and sorrow; or if fate decree
That weariness of banal joys unstring
The golden bow within us of desire;
If thought's clear crystal vase entire
Must in our spirits fall and break below;
If, spite of all, I lie at last supine,
Vanquish'd for not having been enough
The prey of great, divine,
Utter nobility--
Oh! let us be like maddened fools that climb the height
Beneath the ruin'd sky; and let us closer, closer cling,
And in one monstrous flight,
With sun-drenched souls, cleave the on-rushing night!