I am Weary of Being Bitter

I am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise,   And the armor and the mask of these fall from me, after long. I would go where the islands sleep, or where the sea-dawns rise,   And lose my bitter wisdom in the wisdom of a song. There are magics in melodies, unknown of the sages;   The powers of purest wonder on secret wings go by. Doubtless out of the silence of dumb preceding ages   Song woke the chaos-world—and light swept the sky. All that we know is idle; idle is all we cherish;   Idle the will that takes loads that proclaim it strong. For the knowledge, the strength, the burden—all shall perish:   One thing only endures, one thing only—song.