Shall I decide it by a random shot?

Arthur Hugh Clough

1819 to 1861

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