English poetry

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Conceit

It is conceit that kills us
And makes us cowards instead of gods.

Under the great Command: Know thy self, and that thou art mortal!
We have become fatally self-conscious, fatally self-important, fatally entangled in the Laocoцn coils of our conceit.

Now we have to admit we can’t know ourselves, we can only know about ourselves.
And I am not interested to know about myself any more,
I only entangle myself in the knowing.

Now let me be myself,
Now let me be myself, and flicker forth,
Now let me be myself, in the being, one of the gods.


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Poem Conceit - David Herbert Lawrence