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- 4075
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
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- 4036
- text
- thee, he thought, that thy tyrannous, insatiate grasp, thus now in my
bitterest need--thus doth rob me even of my mother; thus doth make me
now doubly an orphan, without a green grave to bedew. My tears,--could
I weep them,--must now be wept in the desolate places; now to me is it,
as though both father and mother had gone on distant voyages, and,
returning, died in unknown seas.
She loveth me, ay;--but why? Had I been cast in a cripple's mold, how
then? Now, do I remember that in her most caressing love, there ever
gleamed some scaly, glittering folds of pride. Me she loveth with
pride's love; in me she thinks she seeth her own curled and haughty
beauty; before my glass she stands,--pride's priestess--and to her
mirrored image, not to me, she offers up her offerings of kisses. Oh,
small thanks I owe thee, Favorable Goddess, that didst clothe this form
with all the beauty of a man, that so thou mightest hide from me all the
truth of a man. Now I see that in his beauty a man is snared, and made
stone-blind, as the worm within its silk. Welcome then be Ugliness and
Poverty and Infamy, and all ye other crafty ministers of Truth, that
beneath the hoods and rags of beggars hide yet the belts and crowns of
kings. And dimmed be all beauty that must own the clay; and dimmed be
all wealth, and all delight, and all the annual prosperities of earth,
that but gild the links, and stud with diamonds the base rivets and the
chains of Lies. Oh, now methinks I a little see why of old the men _of_
Truth went barefoot, girded with a rope, and ever moving under
mournfulness as underneath a canopy. I remember now those first wise
words, wherewith our Savior Christ first spoke in his first speech to
men:--'Blessed are the poor in spirit, and blessed they that mourn.' Oh,
hitherto I have but piled up words; bought books, and bought some small
experiences, and builded me in libraries; now I sit down and read. Oh,
now I know the night, and comprehend the sorceries of the moon, and all
the dark persuadings that have their birth in storms and winds. Oh, not
long will Joy abide, when Truth doth come; nor Grief her laggard be.
Well may this head hang on my breast--it holds too much; well may my
heart knock at my ribs,--prisoner impatient of his iron bars. Oh, men
are jailers all; jailers of themselves; and in Opinion's world
ignorantly hold their noblest part a captive to their vilest; as
disguised royal Charles when caught by peasants. The heart! the heart!
'tis God's anointed; let me pursue the heart!
- title
- Chunk 5