A Blockhead

Before me lies a mass of shapeless days,Unseparated atoms, and I mustSort them apart and live them. Sifted dustCovers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,There are none, ever. As a monk who praysThe sliding beads asunder, so I thrustEach tasteless particle aside, and justBegin again the task which never stays.And I have known a glory of great suns,When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire!Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire,And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs!Spilt is that liquor, my too hasty handThrew down the cup, and did not understand.