Alas, my poor young men,
do you lack vitality?
Has the shell grown too heavy for the
tortoise?
Does he just squirm?
Is the frame of things too heavy
for poor young wretched men?
Do they jazz and jump and wriggle
and rush about in machines
and listen to bodiless noises
and cling to their thin young women
as to the last straw
just in desperation,
because their spirit can’t move?
Because their hope is pinned down by the system
and can’t even flutter?
Well, well-, if it is so it is so;
but remember, the undaunted gods
give vitality still to the dauntless.
And sometimes they give it as love,
ah love, sweet love, not so easy!
But sometimes they give it as lightning.
And it’s no good wailing for love
if they only offer you lightning.
And it’s no good mooning for sloppy ease
when they’re holding out the thunderbolt
for you to take.
You might as well take the lightning
for once, and feel it go through you.
You might as well accept the thunderbolt
and prepare for storms.
You’ll not get vitality any other way.