Tuesday, February 18, 2020



CASES FROM THE FEMALE ORGASM CLINIC     _______________________________________



                  Soon as I can get to a scanner, I`ll
scan some of the “Roving Reporter in the Bush” tales,
and the comic sketches drawn by Ernie Taylor of me inhot pursuit of various stories.

(He got the “mad intensity” which is hard
to get, I`m told.  Soon as someone points a camera at
me I smile like an innocent schoolboy.)

Of course, looking at me these days, I`m
not fooling anyone.
Maybe I wasn`t fooling anybody when I was
a schoolboy. I had one Grade 2 teacher who hated me
on sight!  Maybe she got a glimpse of the mind behind
the mask – the innocent schoolboy act…

I wrote for 2 hours the other morning – a great
true scene of whipping my 2nd wife atop a cliff, near
a waterfall in the spring – with 20 tourists approaching.  That girl sure did have a set of lungs!
I had to wrap things up fast….She was screaming…
like I hadn’t told her what I was going to do to her…

Ah, but some of the tourists were running like
they were trying to “save” her.  They should have
saved me.  I was the one married to her…                                      *
The problem with people who want to try S&M,
they hear it`s sexy… that the PAIN turns to PLEASURE…
if you get caned in the right spot…       They’re right, but NOT RIGHT AWAY!
It`s going to hurt a lot first… And that`s when you
spend a little quiet time alone and tell yourself
how sorry you are for all the evil things you`ve
done… (No!  I`m kidding!)
Anyway Melissa was losing it, and tourists
were almost making it to the crest of the hill,  so I did the
only logical thing.  I put Melissa in the trunk of the car.
Out of sight, out of mind…
Then later I went on to describe my use of Mindshocks,
working with a trained psychologist, to cure tortured
women, tortured by their familial repressions… how
Mindshocks help to set these ladies free – by scaring the
shit out of them, if they need it.
Their knees are not pressed so tightly together
after that. And if the women have a tendency to look
at the floor – they don`t look at the floor so much
after the first Surprise.
No, it`s too dangerous to look at the floor.  They
look behind them and all around them, and then they see
my trained assistants with notepad ,
padded handcuffs and a short cattle prod, which
is easy to hide when you tuck it up the sleeve of
your white labcoat…   when they see that…
Some of them try to run, but they don`t get far. It`s
rare for anyone to get away, like Alice. After all, she`d already paid the fee.  Also, there`s the fact that I`m the
only shop in three cities who performs this sort
of high-intensity, quick-fix psychological procedure.
Hell, I might be the only clinic anywhere, who promises to
cure your orgasm problems in ten days, or you money
back guaranteed.
After several years, most of the women who have
after a year or two, I get thank you notes… sometimes
the letters are long and the thanks are effusive;  sometimes they even try to find me!
But right off the bat after the procedure, they
usually   hate my guts…  That`s why I have to get
the money first.
In my one unsuccessful case, out of 19 delighted and appreciative women I got a letter
that was not a thank-you note…It looked like she had
a lawyer or  an expensive secretary type it.  The words,
“a long and enduring hatred” appeared.
I`ll be seeing her again, but it might take
years, and, all flippancy aside, she has a serious problem,
which will not get better on its own – even if she shoots
her father, or her uncle, whoever she`s sure has caused her such difficulties.                                           *
Speaking of shooting, TRANSFERENCE can be a problem in this specific situation. When she turns her
compulsive spotlight in my direction, it`s quite likely
she`ll try to shoot me. This has happened to me with
members of the fair sex before, but never in a professional relationship.
I can feel her now, prowling the side streets and
parking lots around my old place, a rifle with a scope in her trunk.               I should never have taught the lady to shoot.
I  had nothing but her best interests at heart. However –  it might appear  different in her mind –  in her enraged,vindictive an extremely pressured state of mind.
I`ll have to be very careful
when I leave the compound, any time soon.
is an extremely attractive, wealthy, apparently stable woman… But she’ll be trouble for any husband.  Until she is cured, that is.  And she is so very close to a cure.  Just give me 3 more nights with her in the clinic.
You see the husband, when he gets naked with her to have sex – and when sex turns out to be a disaster –it`s hard to maintain an erection if you are staring into the
eyes of a woman who looks suspiciously like a black
panther, preparing to eat your spleen.


I have my assistants. Gentle Doctor Laura is
available to placate patients – Laura`s services are  always necessary after the initial Mindshock.
The women naturally think they are in the
middle of some weird Machiavellian Nazi experiment
after I lay the electrodes down to tender parts
of their bodies.
It`s almost all for show… Almost!
Thinking again of that poor naked man
before Alice’s glowering onslaught.
Without my instruments I`d feel naked, too.

I use well-fashioned and durable sexual implements… An electric pulse and probe are frequently necessary… and of course there are canes and crops. Electric cuffs may be needed… restraints…prescribed stimulants… padded restraints.
Sometimes I bring in professional studs,
sometimes  distractions…    Sometimes I use power tools…                                        *

My team are pros at quickly
treating any medical difficulties


               Sometimes after the
first surprise PROBE and ZAP, the patient starts to shriek…
and the words LAWSUIT and CHARLATAN often come up… and she`s right.

With the amount of  of electrical
and medical lab equipment we have assembled here…
not to mention the powerful prescription drugs. She’s right

that all my methods are not approved.
When the patient starts to shriek “LAWSUIT”
after the first blast of  current up her ass, I hit her with the


And soon as they awaken and she`s having
breakfast in her green backless johnny gown, I hit her
with the blast again….. ZOWEEE!  MINDSHOCK!
delivered to her lower unit…
I have doubled the current going thru the
electric probe this time ..  .
I told you, I get results, and I get `em fast!
I must break down all resistance. And we’re

experts at my lab.
I`m the one who drafts the MEDICAL RELEASE
FORM, and if I do say so myself, it`s a beauty.
I lost one lovely twisted soul 13 months ago… I
happened to spot her sprinting across the lawn.
Sometimes you overdo the initial shock –  but really the
shock has to be administered in a closed environment.

An intelligent woman can often sense something
coming.   Maybe it`s the snickers of the queer male nurses.
(I keep calling them gay – they insist they`re not gay;
they`re Queer. I`m not sure what the difference is
and I`m not sure I want to know).

         William S.  Burroughs wrote the book, “QUEER!”

 and we all respected him.


I hired the male nurses because they did such a special job of nabbing fleeing patients at the research hospital –
they showed such gusto and skill.  (They nabbed
me more than once and I can run like a rabbit when
I`ve got a good head of steam up. Of course, with my
knees strapped together they had the advantage…)
Yes, I make fun. But these women suffer.
And, understand something about my methods:
I claim to cure you quick.  And I do.  I will.
My team hasn`t had a failure yet.(With one exception
and I`m not finished with her yet.) If my
methods appear to be more like theater than
medicine, well so be it!
I`ve always wanted to get into the theater,
but this is a hell of a way to do it!
As I`ve mentioned before, my clinic is not
sanctioned by the A.M.A. or even by the F.D.A.
I do get referrals from some doctors, but
it`s always on the Q.T.    That should be enough
initials for one article.

Word of mouth provides most of my trade –
people who roam the City late at night in the
black-walled darkness of the more unknown bars,
red flickering candles, vampire suits,
and laughter and shouts and confidential talk
when the band stops playing.

“It worked for Alice.   She feels a whole lot
better now… She says he was brilliant, a genius.
She said he quoted Dr Wilhelm Reich and his
orgone therapy as well as Mesmer and the Marquis
de Sade.
” Now she wants sex as soon as she sees a
white coat, or hears a certain song
only the doctor knows…”
” You`re kidding, Alice – that has to
be unethical – keeping a hypnotic trigger secret!”
“It`s certainly better  keeping it secret –
than telling everybody what it is at the cross-roads!”


Alice laughs out loud and slaps her knee.
“Actually, Jo,  that was a joke about the secret
song.”   She pats Jo`s hand.
Johanna:   “What`s gotten into you?
You haven`t been snorting that drug, inhaling ha! ha! gas again?”
“Relax!   I feel fine.  I feel great, better
than I have in over a decade. He not only
showed me how to orgasm, he cured my two
pack a day smoking habit….

“My God! How`d he do that?”


Madelaine looked down… along the line of
her leg and boot:


            “He showed me how to put something
else in my mouth.”


Sunday, February 16, 2020


Krista's garden
is in the sky
and in the trees
that thrive
on edges of the parking lots
and by the lake

The dark clouds in the sunset
red as fire
the wind that lifts and circles
blows a candy wrapper up and about
til she throws her hands down
and all is silent one instant
all is still
the wind unmoving

Krista follows
gives the nod to the reddish rose
and fires of sunset
Krista goes where
the sun and rain
and windy rhythms go
casts hints to those
who may know

Krista's garden sprouts above
for we who dance below.

(C)2001 by William G Milne

Sunday, February 9, 2020

Father David Belyea - Priest and GREAT TEACHER

Father Belyea.*****************

To this day, his name fills me with such admiration and takes me back to a time when he became an influential person in my life. It was September 1970 - the beginning of our 4th year in nursing at U of T. When faced with the challenge of finding two required arts electives that would fit into our highly structured timetable, many of us had the good fortune of registering in Father Belyea’s “Religion 304: Theology in Literature” course. It was a long walk to St. Michael’s College on the other side of campus where classes were held, but by October, the trek from the School of Nursing on St. George Street, across Queen’s Park to St. Michael’s College felt like a welcome escape into another world.

Father Belyea had a presence. His smile would light up the room. He was charismatic but in an unpretentious way. His lectures were mesmerizing and thought-provoking, and he delivered them with great enthusiasm. At a time in our early twenties when we were looking to understand the world and to find meaning in life, Father Belyea seemed to be someone who had figured it out. If anyone could help us make sense of the confusion, it would be him!

Keeping up with the demanding reading list of books for the course was a struggle, but falling behind wasn’t an option. He introduced me to writers such as Leo Tolstoy, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Albert Camus, Fyodor Dostoyevsky and James Joyce. Father Belyea would deliver his lecture as he walked back and forth, back and forth, at the front of the room, holding the book we were studying under his arm or in his hand. He would read key passages – just a line or two – and then perhaps repeat it as we pondered the concept he was addressing. The point was always to go a little deeper. He made us think. He asked questions, offering them to us for our consideration, without providing answers. He taught us a great deal about humanity and the human spirit. We learned about kindness, love, hope, acceptance, compassion and forgiveness. We listened to, and considered, the opinions of others, even if they were different from our own. Sometimes, we challenged those opinions. We learned that simple words can have a profound meaning and that comfort could be found in them. We strived to find the goodness in people, in each other. Father Belyea believed that we could make a difference in the world and the lives of others. He made us want to try.

Here are some of his unforgettable quotes from lectures:

Birds sing sweeter than books tell how. (e. e. cummings)

The greatest and rarest art of all is the art of being human.

If you’re bored, you’re boring.

The degree to which we isolate ourselves reflects the amount of fear we have towards other  people.

Climb Mount Everest: love someone who doesn’t love you.

The people we should love the most are those who love us enough to tell us the truth about ourselves.

              A person has to forgive himself before he can forgive others.

              The state of the soul is truly manifested in the eyes.

              Beware of youth who are too sensible.

              The artist sees through his eyes and states the profound, the obvious.

The experience of living can teach one how to think, but thinking can never teach one how to live.

There is an element of sadness that is generated from every thing of beauty, for example, a  sunset. Man forever longs for the infinite.

Father Belyea enjoyed having nursing students in his class. Perhaps the reason for this was that we, too, had chosen a caring profession; that he knew some of the more difficult aspects of life we’d already been witness to as nursing students, or would be confronting in our careers that lay ahead. As we became nurses, he had something valuable to impart to us.

I believe that the way in which I practised nursing over the years was influenced by the teachings of Father Belyea. I continue to live each day with meaning. And when I listen to birds singing their hearts out, I think of Father Belyea and smile. They truly do sing sweeter than books tell how.
I didn't write this. But I love Father Belyea, also. He is/was a major influence in my life. And he did some outrageous things to support
me and to show other people who I was/am --- more on this later, if the bridge stands and the waters don't rise.            Love and cheers --
W.G. Milne

Saturday, February 8, 2020


        I tend to stress the importance of ego annihilation
because it was important to me in the path
I had to travel.

        The phrase: "What you give is what you will receive,"
applies. If your need is for complete Realization, complete
Enlightenment (foundation experience) then complete ego
annihilation is needed - before absolute Grace may pour in.

         It's a difficult task and path and I can't think of
any way to make it easier, or I would tell you. 

* Fasting helps, but it is hardly easy.

* Ingesting the sacred mushroom will give you a sense
    of the divine, but other stressors are also necessary,
    other sources of urgency.

* No one has the patience these days to stare at a wall for 7           years, but it will certainly take seven years to complete and
   deepen the enlightenment experience.

*   Either you do the work (meditation, focused concentration)
      at the beginning, or you'll have to do the work at the end.

*    What is needed is a focused attention over time --costing
       not less than everything.

*     What is also needed is a desperate need to know - an urgent
        need to answer the question your soul has posed for you...
        the need to get to the bottom of things, get the facts...                  figure out the real deal before you pass away

*     another urgent drive might be - the need to comfort a                 loved      one,
        compassion for another can be a powerful force

*      or a prideful desire to outshine another seeker ( this can              urge you forward in a limited way - often seen in                          monasteries)

*        some powerful drive is needed to pierce the eggshell ego
           that surrounds you, in order to be one with the universe.

(C)2020 by W.G. Milne

Monday, February 3, 2020


In this age of darkness and spite, please                 do
Show to me the path of patience and light
And in this hour of rushed aggressiveness
Please teach me the path above depression

In this new dawn that brings a second                  Christ
Please show me the path to bathe in His                Light

And in this vast land of unconsciousness
Please give us all the path of divine bliss
And in this land of sub-aquatic doubt
Please show us the new path of                             blessedness.

(C) 2020 by W.G. Milne

Tuesday, January 7, 2020


Clifftop Writings:

"The poet knew that he had
            tasted the Mind of God
He had been taught and schooled
             by the Lord on cliff tops,
promontories into deep lakes
and wild seas. In many such
places the Lord of Hosts revealed
the eternal presence of His seeing
in His holy light. 
           The poet had been astounded
repeatedly and anointed by the Lord,
through none of his own
doing, but by Grace only.
            That all things are of God:
matter and soul and spirit originate
in Him, and all returns to Him.

All is in the crystal shower
of the incandescent throne,
The holy fountain that erupts
and subsides again: the awareness
which is the eye of the seashell
And of the hurricane and the tornado:
The burning blaze at the heart
Of the atom; the restless charge
That leaps throughout the adhesion
Of molecules; the pure eye of the
Baby child newly in her cradle:
The leap of a bright butterfly off a
          summer branch,
The yellow eye of the sun
The eye for which all all time
                            is present
The past and the future exist
To the Mind of God:

"I see Moses in his day and
Adam and the birth of my son
In whom I am well pleased;
I am Alpha, Omega, and I am
the unity of the Universe."

"I am  the living and fiery essence
         that burns in the light of the stars;
  I am the white light of holy dreams
         and realities,
The chastity of the bride
The white wedding of the Mind;
I am the poet's poetry
The prophecy of the sage
I am the potter,
You are my clay:
I give to you, even this
New heaven and earth
Born again in this page;

(C)2019-2020 by W.G. Milne.



The silver light in the streaming rain
The wings of the white gull passing again
The broken-hearted lullaby

At the lakeside lumber drive
I tried to say, "Bella, goodbye,"
But she knows when somethings shaking
Something survives

The Japanese Elm with its leaves of fur
Delights the evening, its branches stir
The lunatic crimson colour of the sun
When day is ending or just begun
Something is rising from below
Something is rising from the smoke
Like a lost horizon and an open boat
Like a green god rising from the snow
And waiting there as the winter blows

Something is calling from the frozen streets
Where the barflies in restaurants nod and eat
Where the smoke is rising from the factories' heat
Steam from sewer tops, signs on the peaks

A neon dancing dime for dime
Gives me weekend passage from the nowhere mine
An hour's respite from the dissatisfied mind
Which hurries the tomatoes and makes the time

Something's rising from below
Something's rising from the smoke
Like a lost horizon and an open boat
Like a green god rising from the smoke
And waiting there while the winter blows

The master magician turns the wheel
So some feel robbed while others steal
And what the red Madonna lost in her zeal
Our white lady of the fields
Speaks without shame in her crystal heels

The Chinese steeple in the white room
Sweeps the streets of the fisherman's gloom
And the priest says something or someone's
coming soon
But when I follow him to his room
And I see him naked by his dark lagoon
And I say, "Hmmm, whatever comes out of a swamp
Might be exactly... what Madonna wants."

And who's to say? there's no telling 'bout taste
What Sunday some will save, others they'll just waste
They'll let the wind waste away
The poppies growing on the dead men's grave
And what sister in her silk skirt gave
Set ships sailing wave on wave

And who's to say? there's no accounting for taste
What Sunday some will save, others they'll
just waste
On Saturday........................On Saturday

I had no more doubts, the river never runs dry
It keeps on rolling deep and willful neath the sky
And dark-haired lady winks at me from the other side
She says if you got nowhere to run you got nowhere to hide
If you're gonna open your arms, open 'em wide
The sky, you see, will accept no disguise
Come swim with me - take that mystery ride

And Oo Oo oo, the days they go
But there's something that that lady of the rocks don't know
Out of the crimson morning of the snow
One forbidden shoot begins to grow
The nightbird screams and the frozen wind blows

Nobody's walking, everybody climbs
Up the ladder of the nowhere mine
And once in a while someone makes a find
Says, " Won't please someone bring me a light?
Is this gold or is this lime?"

And who's to know? There's no accounting
'bout taste
What one day someone will save, others he'll
just waste
On Saturday............. on Saturday

And something's rising from below
Something's rising from the smoke
Like a lost horizon and an open boat
Like a green god rising from the snow
And waiting there while the winter blows.

by William Milne


This is a song I wrote when I was singing
in Johnny Rock and the Mainstreet Band.

It comes out of the "Little Schoolgirl" 
Blues tradition.

I particularly like the mix of cross-harp and tenor saxophone.

Hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

(C)1990-2020 by W.G. Milne

Sunday, January 5, 2020



white light thru the door at Spiro's Cafe
white white white hot sun at the heart of the day
Black Beauty's coming soon
Delivery's at noon
In the junkyard underneath the floor
First a throb of love, then a lash of pain
Plastic yellow roses someone's glued to the wall
Next to a picture of me
Doesn't look like me at all
Cigar and brandy and me and Old Nick
Poster of a stripper from last year
There's a crack in the wall and something comes thru it
What it is I can't exactly tell.
No sleep for a week, it's clear as a crystal bell,
Been in the desert now for 40 days...
I walked 100 miles from jail, I haven't
found my thrill,
With the little people sneaking thru my keyhole once again.
Roxy's at the corner trying to get some cash,
There's a gold stamp on it from across the sea,
Can't seem to find that last kilo flat of hash -
Can't wait to mix it, smoke it up with some of these!

Wednesday, January 1, 2020


Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
(Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy.

Ye bless├Ęd creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
—But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learn{e}d art
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That Nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.