I have a fog that clouds my feeble brain

I have a fog that clouds my feeble brain,
And wraps all sense in veils through which I see:
I have a mind that wanders dull down dullest lane,
And somewhere in that dull there’s dullest me.

Ah! To sweep away the dross and lift the stone,
To have a perfect mind shaped clear and bright,
To fetter on the power of this that’s flown,
And draw angels dancing down through the night.

Yes! I’d sweep my hollow place to victory,
I’d dream and dance beneath the summer’s sun,
I’d roam with Gods and lay down my great pleas,
And discourse on how the stars and heaven run.

Instead, I stare awhile at rooks that call,
And seeing nothing am the wisest fool.

Nov. 00