Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
The quiet sense of something lost
Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
A beam in darkness: let it grow.