A clutch of attachment, like parenthood,
Mounts up to my heart, and I find it good.
And I lift my head upon the troubled tangled world, and though the pain
Of living my life were doubled, I still have this to comfort and sustain,
I have such swarming sense of lives at the base of me, such sense of lives
Clustering upon me, reaching up, as each after the other strives
To follow my life aloft to the fine wild air of life and the storm of thought,
And though I scarcely see the boys, or know that they are there, distraught
As I am with living my life in earnestness, still progressively and alone,
Though they cling, forgotten the most part, not companions, scarcely known