Clever as most men, if not something more—
Yet here I stand a failure, cut awry
Or left opaque,—no brilliant named and known.
Whate'er my inner stuff, my outside 's blank;
I 'm nobody—or rather, look that same—
I 'm—who I am—and know it; but I hold
What in my hand out for the world to see?
What ministry, what mission, or what book
—I 'll say, book even? Not a sign of these!
I began—laughing—'All these when I like!'