Our aspirations are our responsibilities.

For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.

My care is for myself; Myself am whole and sole reality.

How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

Escape me? Never, beloved! While I am I, and you are you.

I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not; but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.

My sun sets to rise again.