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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students
Poetry Library

— Stephen Crane

I stood upon a high place,

And saw, below, many devils

Running, leaping,

And carousing in sin.

…

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Engaged in or ready for action; characterized by energetic work, thought, or speech.

“The students were very active in class discussions, asking many thoughtful questions.”

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VIII. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE.

43 lines
Arthur Hugh Clough·1819–1861
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cannot stay at Florence, not even to wait for a letter.Galleries only oppress me. Remembrance of hope I had cherished(Almost more than as hope, when I passed through Florence the first time)Lies like a sword in my soul. I am more a coward than ever,Chicken-hearted, past thought. The caffès and waiters distress me.All is unkind, and, alas! I am ready for any one’s kindness.Oh, I knew it of old, and knew it, I thought, to perfection,If there is any one thing in the world to preclude all kindness,It is the need of it,—it is this sad, self-defeating dependence.Why is this, Eustace? Myself, were I stronger, I think I could tell you.But it is odd when it comes. So plumb I the deeps of depression,Daily in deeper, and find no support, no will, no purpose.All my old strengths are gone. And yet I shall have to do something.Ah, the key of our life, that passes all wards, opens all locks,Is not _I will_, but _I must_. I must,—I must,—and I do it. * * * * * After all, do I know that I really cared so about her?Do whatever I will, I cannot call up her image;For when I close my eyes, I see, very likely, St. Peter’s,Or the Pantheon façade, or Michel Angelo’s figures,Or, at a wish, when I please, the Alban hills and the Forum,—But that face, those eyes,—ah, no, never anything like them;Only, try as I will, a sort of featureless outline,And a pale blank orb, which no recollection will add to.After all, perhaps there was something factitious about it;I have had pain, it is true: I have wept, and so have the actors. * * * * * At the last moment I have your letter, for which I was waiting;I have taken my place, and see no good in inquiries.Do nothing more, good Eustace, I pray you. It only will vex me.Take no measures. Indeed, should we meet, I could not be certain;All might be changed, you know. Or perhaps there was nothing to bechanged.It is a curious history, this; and yet I foresaw it;I could have told it before. The Fates, it is clear, are against us;For it is certain enough I met with the people you mention;They were at Florence the day I returned there, and spoke to me even;Stayed a week, saw me often; departed, and whither I know not.Great is Fate, and is best. I believe in Providence partly.What is ordained is right, and all that happens is ordered.Ah, no, that isn’t it. But yet I retain my conclusion.I will go where I am led, and will not dictate to the chances.Do nothing more, I beg. If you love me, forbear interfering.
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