Explore "Sweet Hours" by Carmen Sylva on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thy sadness is a leaden shroud, a rock / Of Sisyphus, which thou must upward roll / By night and day, on, on. Its downward rush / Is no relief, no help, since it but seems / Heavier at each fresh start. And still thy strength / Is waning, and thy heart aches with the tears -- / The unshed tears that lie like stones upon it, / While those that flowed are rivers in thy path -- / Unfathomable, fordless, dark and deep.
These thou must wade, with all thy burdens -- wade / And sink with every step as 'twere thy last, / And feel such deadly weakness seize on thee / As though some raging fever laid thee low.