(at a Cathedral Service)<\/p>\n
That from this bright believing band
\nAn outcast I should be,
\nThat faiths by which my comrades stand
\nSeem fantasies to me,
\nAnd mirage-mists their Shining Land,
\nIs a drear destiny.<\/p>\n
Why thus my soul should be consigned Since heart of mine knows not that ease I am like a gazer who should mark Yet I would bear my shortcomings O, doth a bird deprived of wings \u2014 1898<\/p>\n
\nTo infelicity,
\nWhy always I must feel as blind
\nTo sights my brethren see,
\nWhy joys they’ve found I cannot find,
\nAbides[1]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0a mystery.<\/p>\n
\nWhich they know; since it be
\nThat He who breathes All’s Well to these
\nBreathes no All’s Well to me,
\nMy lack might move their sympathies
\nAnd Christian charity!<\/p>\n
\nAn inland company
\nStanding upfingered, with, “Hark! hark!
\nThe glorious distant sea!”
\nAnd feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark
\nAnd wind-swept pine to me!”<\/p>\n
\nWith meet tranquillity,
\nBut for the charge that blessed things
\nI’d liefer[2]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0have unbe.<\/p>\n
\nGo earth-bound wilfully!
\n. . . .
\nEnough. As yet disquiet clings
\nAbout us. Rest shall we.<\/p>\n