This effort for NaPoWriMo #26 is based on an excerpt from Canto 3 of Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, which is quoted in full below.
‘Tis in creating that we endow
of my thought
I have thought
‘Tis to create, and in creating live
A being more intense, that we endow
With form our fancy, gaining as we give
The life we image, even as I do now.
What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,
Invisible but gazing, as I glow
Mix’d with the spirit, blended with thy birth,
And feeling still with thee in my crush’d feelings’ dearth.
Yet must I think wildly: — I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy boiling and o’erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poison’d. ‘Tis too late!
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what time can not abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.