What then is hope, my truest friends;
a prayer prayed, or means to ends?
Or too desire in light guise –
A crack malicious in her lens?
For that, I grew too old, too wise.

And left is nothing but regret,
or shame and lust when wishes met.
When all, that will, has come to pass,
keep we neglecting to forget;
 for nothing fills this half-drunk glass.

A dream I dreamt, but half awake
and half recalled my faith at stake.
Longed for depth and found me thin –
there is no hope for hoping’s sake.
 I still beat out, but no more in.

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