You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
Not to push the days, the seasons,Not to strain for tomorrow.Let be.What if this were the end?From the fancied gasping plunge in the voidTurn with reliefTo a leaf,To a flower or a bird,To anything that is and is not naught,And note how even the gloom