To speak, methinks I could unfold

Why in such efforts you could meet

But only misery and defeat.

Yet deem not of us as at strife,

Because you set before your life

A purpose and a loftier aim,

Than the blind lives of men may claim

For the most part—or that you sought,

By fixed resolve and solemn thought,

To lift your being’s calm estate

Out of the range of time and fate.

Glad am I that a thing unseen,

A spiritual Presence, this has been

Your worship, this your young heart stirred—

But yet herein you proudly erred,

Here may the source of woe be found,

You thought to fling, yourself around,

The atmosphere of light and love

In which it was your joy to move—{21}

{21}

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