III.When I do think my meanest line shall beMore in Time’s use than my creating whole,That future eyes more clearly shall feel meIn this inked page than in my direct soul;When I conjecture put to make me seeingGood readers of me in some aftertime,Thankful to some idea of my beingThat doth not even my with gone true soul rime;An anger at the essence of the world,That makes this thus, or thinkable this wise,Takes my soul by the throat and makes it hurledIn nightly horrors of despaired surmise,And I become the mere sense of a rageThat lacks the very words whose waste might ’suage.
When I do think my meanest line shall beMore in Time’s use than my creating whole,That future eyes more clearly shall feel meIn this inked page than in my direct soul;When I conjecture put to make me seeingGood readers of me in some aftertime,Thankful to some idea of my beingThat doth not even my with gone true soul rime;An anger at the essence of the world,That makes this thus, or thinkable this wise,Takes my soul by the throat and makes it hurledIn nightly horrors of despaired surmise,And I become the mere sense of a rageThat lacks the very words whose waste might ’suage.