我我们兴奋太奇怪的主人?年代联系;We shrink too sadly from the larger self Which for its own completeness agitates And undetermines us; we do not feel? We dare not feel it yet?the splendid shame Of uncreated failure; we forget, The while we groan, that God?s accomplishment Is always and unfailingly at hand. II Tumultously void of a clean scheme Whereon to build, whereof to formulate, The legion life that riots in mankind Goes ever plunging upward, up and down, Most like some crazy regiment at arms, Undisciplined of aught but Ignorance, And ever led resourcelessly along To brainless carnage by drunk trumpeters. III To me the groaning of world-worshippers Rings like a lonely music played in hell By one with art enough to cleave the walls Of heaven with his cadence, but without The wisdom or the will to comprehend The strangeness of his own perversity, And all without the courage to deny The profit and the pride of his defeat. IV While we are drilled in error, we are lost Alike to truth and usefulness. We think We are great warriors now, and we can brag Like Titans; but the world is growing young, And we, the fools of time, are growing with it:? We do not fight to-day, we only die; We are too proud of death, and too ashamed Of God, to know enough to be alive. V There is one battle-field whereon we fall Triumphant and unconquered; but, alas! We are too fleshly fearful of ourselves To fight there till our days are whirled and blurred By sorrow, and the ministering wheels Of anguish take us eastward, where the clouds Of human gloom are lost against the gleam That shines on Thought?s impenetrable mail. VI When we shall hear no more the cradle-songs Of ages?when the timeless hymns of Love Defeat them and outsound them?we shall know The rapture of that large release which all Right science comprehends; and we shall read, With unoppressed and unoffended eyes, That record of All-Soul whereon God writes In everlasting runes the truth of Him. VII The guerdon of new childhood is repose:? Once he has read the primer of right thought, A man may claim between two smithy strokes Beatitude enough to realize God?s parallel completeness in the vague And incommensurable excellence That equitably uncreates itself And makes a whirlwind of the Universe. VIII There is no loneliness:?no matter where We go, nor whence we come, nor what good friends Forsake us in the seeming, we are all At one with a complete companionship; And though forlornly joyless be the ways We travel, the compensate spirit-gleams Of Wisdom shaft the darkness here and there, Like scattered lamps in unfrequented streets. IX When one that you and I had all but sworn To be the purest thing God ever made Bewilders us until at last it seems An angel has come back restigmatized,? Faith wavers, and we wonder what there is On earth to make us faithful any more, But never are quite wise enough to know The wisdom that is in that wonderment. X Where does a dead man go??The dead man dies; But the free life that would no longer feed On fagots of outburned and shattered flesh Wakes to a thrilled invisible advance, Unchained (or fettered else) of memory; And when the dead man goes it seems to me ?T were better for us all to do away With weeping, and be glad that he is gone. XI Still through the dusk of dead, blank-legended, And unremunerative years we search To get where life begins, and still we groan Because we do not find the living spark Where no spark ever was; and thus we die, Still searching, like poor old astronomers Who totter off to bed and go to sleep, To dream of untriangulated stars. XII With conscious eyes not yet sincere enough To pierce the glimmered cloud that fluctuates Between me and the glorifying light That screens itself with knowledge, I discern The searching rays of wisdom that reach through The mist of shame?s infirm credulity, And infinitely wonder if hard words Like mine have any message for the dead. XIII I grant you friendship is a royal thing, But none shall ever know that royalty For what it is till he has realized His best friend in himself. ?T is then, perforce, That man?s unfettered faith indemnifies Of its own conscious freedom the old shame, And love?s revealed infinitude supplants Of its own wealth and wisdom the old scorn. XIV Though the sick beast infect us, we are fraught Forever with indissoluble Truth, Wherein redress reveals