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 so clean and bright,
To fetter down the power of that which's flown
And draw down angels dancing 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 plea,
And hold discourse on how the stars and heaven run.

Instead, I stare awhile at rooks and call,
And see nothing, and suffer being the wisest fool.

Nov. 00