How did I grow
Yet not grow great?
How did I feign
Importance’s state
As if ‘twere but a matter of age?
And discourse hold,
Of parties and cowardice bold
Though I’ve aged
Without maturity’s sage.

No effort, no constancy,
For beauty and ugliness alike,
Right and wrong, so’t seems be
Merely paths, paths to strike.

I’ve fallen once more
By hand so slight,
Stronger, whiter
And risen again in plight,
Just to fall once more
For in falling again
I came to understand
The scorch of the cry
Slaying the quiet ‘fore the land.

Marco Delrio

Falling