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
Till the wrecks and hoards 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 the lamp of the importunate
Hold my hands, raise me from the
Still-gathering heap of your gifts
Into the bare infinity of your uncrowded