Shall I decide it by a random shot?
Arthur Hugh Clough
1819 to 1861
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Shall I decide it by a random shot?
Our hopes, so happy and so good,
Are not mere motions of the blood;
And when they seem most baseless, most are not.
A seed there must have been the spot
Where the flowers grow, without it ne’er could;
The confidence of growth least understood
Of some intuition was begot.
What if despair and hope alike true?
The heart, ’tis manifest, is free to do
Nature and itself suggest,
And always ’tis a fact we are here,
And with being here, doth palsy-giving
(Whoe’er can ask or hope) accord the best?
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