To bed or not to bed, that is the question
Whether tis now nobler in my mind to scupper
The flings and shallows of my outrageous Former
Or stay set upon this sea of transients
And by not opposing, bed them? – To hide, – to creep
No more:- and, by creep, to say I end
This secret heartache, and thousand false highs
The flesh is weak for, – though twas consummation
Once devoutly wished. To cry, – to weep:-
To weep! Perchance I’d scream: – ay that’s the hub;
For in new years of dearth what screams may come
When I have thrown off this carnal coil
Does give me pause. There’s this respect
That makes calamity of long sought love;
For why now waste the whims and sighs of trysts,
The philanderer’s right, the butterfly’s pride
On maybe despis’d affection, a lover’s delay
The indolence if softer, and the spurns
That patient merit if she’s unworthy takes,
When I myself might more noise make
With just some bare body? Who would from ardour tear,
Those grunts and sweat of an easier life,
For but a dream there’s something after this,
An undiscover’d country, and whose boons
This traveller might seek, – it puzzles my will,
And makes me rather bear the thrills I have
Than fly to something I know not of?
Will conscience make a coward of me
So thus the colour of my new resolution
Is glossed over by the cast of second thought
And an enterprise of great weight and intent
With this regard its current turns awry,
And keeps the name of Bastian?
By TAFKAB [The Artist Formerly Known As Bastian]
