TIME after time I came to your gate with raised hands, asking for more and
yet more.
You gave and gave, now in slow measure, now in sudden excess.
I took some, and some things I let drop; some lay heavy on my hands; some I
made into playthings and broke them when tired; till the wrecks and the hoard
of your gifts grew immense, hiding you, and the ceaseless expectation wore my
heart out.
Take, oh take — has now become my cry.
Shatter all from this beggar’s bowl: put out this lamp of the importunate
watcher: hold my hands, raise me from the still-gathering heap of your gifts
into the bare infinity of your uncrowded presence.