Of incompleteness, when the end explains

That what pride forfeits, beauty gains!

Therefore, O spirit, as a runner strips

Upon a windy afternoon,

Be unencumbered of what troubles you—

Arise with grace

And greatly go!—the wind upon your face!

Grieve not for the invisible transported brow

On which like leaves the dark hair grew,

Nor for the lips of laughter that are now

Laughing inaudibly in sun and dew,

Nor for the limbs that, fallen low

And seeming faint and slow,

Shall alter and renew

Their shape and hue

Like birches white before the moon

Or a young apple-tree

In spring or the round sea

And shall pursue

More ways of swiftness than the swallow dips

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