Give me the storm, the struggle! Aye! give me
A taste of all that is or here or there,
For I would touch life richly everywhere—
An earth-lyre for emotion’s mastery.
Dear One, Dear One, I firmly do believe—
(O! look not at me thus with eyes that grieve!)
That if there is the Heaven to which you pray
Unto the cloistered will its keeper say:
“A garden rich I gave you. Now speak truth—
What did you with my greatest gift—your youth?”