Unwhipt of conscience here I stand alone,
The breezes humbly kiss my garment's hem;
I am a king—the whole world is my throne,
The blue grey sky my royal diadem.
EQUIPMENT
With what thou gavest me, O Master,
I have wrought.
Such chances, such abilities,
To see the end was not for my poor eyes,
Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought.