You see beneath the winsome sky
all fleece of meaning dreams awry
Til pain condones staid love of dross
Til unbought schemes plead virtue lost.
Unless the god returns your frame
Of mind through passion’s mighty flame
All comes to mud with none to hold
Until good fate spills liquid gold.
Perchance the years had promised gloom
Perhaps best inklings spelled out doom
Where profound thought all led to dark
While smallish goals fell short of mark.
Perhaps, but then, arose the truth
Exhausted by your mad pursuit
So time well spent had been gold sought
The timeless type of wealth unbought.
(Jordan Peterson on Hermes Trimestigus
via Jung on Mercury)