In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.
Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?
Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
Trust me not at all, or all in all.