Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power.
Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.