O for a soul surrendered of all guile!
A plain white soul with nothing on it writ,
No creed of mockery to make men smile,
No boast of wisdom travestied as wit;
Only a clean soul where the infinite
Calm of the heavens, as on some tropic isle,
Should have looked down and on the face of it,
Inscribed in sunlight, ''Nothing here was vile.''
--Thus to my life I argue it to--day,
Thus chide my heart its too long vanity,
Its lawless strength, its insolence of play,
Its ancient rage of storm--tossed chivalry.
And yet, God wot, should Love's wind breathe my way,
My heart would rise still, a tumultuous Sea.