I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?