The Wretched

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Nosce Teipsum

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Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man 
Time with a gift of tears 
Grief with a glass that ran 
Pleasure with pain for leaven 
Summer with flowers that fell 
Remembrance fallen from heaven 
And madness risen from hell 

Strength without hands to smite 
Love that endures for a breath 
Night, the shadow of light 
And life, the shadow of death 
And the high gods took in hand 
Fire and the falling of tears 
And a measure of sliding sand 
From under the feet of the years 
And froth and drift of the sea 
And dust of the labouring earth 
And bodies of things to be 
In the houses of death and of birth 

And wrought with weeping and laughter 
And fashioned with loathing and love 
With life before and after 
And death beneath and above 
For a day and a night and a morrow 
That his strength might endure for a span 
With travail and heavy sorrow 
The wretched spirit of man 

From the winds of the north and the south
They gathered as unto strife 
They filled his body with life 
Eyesight and speech they wrought 
For the veils of the soul therein 
A time for labour and thought 
A time to serve and to sin 

His speech is a burning fire 
With his lips he travaileth 
In his heart is a blind desire 
In his eyes foreknowledge of death 
He weaves and is clothed with derision 
Sows and he shall not reap 
His life is a watch or a vision 
Between a sleep and a sleep

And wrought with weeping and laughter 
And fashioned with loathing and love 
With life before and after 
And death beneath and above 
For a day and a night and a morrow 
That his strength might endure for a span 
With travail and heavy sorrow 
The wretched spirit of man 

For the gods have wearied time with heavy burdens
And vexed the lips of life with breath
Death and the great darkness after death

Put moans into the bridal measure
And on the bridal wools a stain
And circled pain about with pleasure
And girdled pleasure about with pain

So what shall be done with all these tears of ours?
Shall they make watersprings in the heavens
To bathe the brows of morning? or like flowers
Be shed and shine before the starriest of hours
Or rather, O masters, shall they be
Food for the famine of the grievous sea,
A great well-head of lamentation
Satiating the gods and fill them full with grieving ere they go?

And wrought with weeping and laughter 
And fashioned with loathing and love 
With life before and after 
And death beneath and above 
For a day and a night and a morrow 
That his strength might endure for a span 
With travail and heavy sorrow 
The wretched spirit of man 

Alas, our lords, and yet alas again,
Seeing your heaven is gilt as gold
But all we smite thereat in vain
All the floors are paven with our pain
We are clad and fed with grief
And filled with days we would not fain behold
And nights we would not hear of
As we wax old and wither like a leaf

We are outcast, strayed between bright sun and moon
Our light and darkness are as leaves of flowers
Black flowers and white that perish; and the noon
As midnight, and the night as daylight hours
A little fruit a little while is ours
And the worm finds it soon

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