Kept far from our endeavours; Strader, too,
Is torn by bitter agonies of doubt.
A man who, full of shrewdness and of hate,
Hath oft opposed the mystic life and aims,
Hath pointed out grave errors in his plans
And shewn that his invention cannot work,
And is not only stopped by outward checks.
Life hath not brought me any ripened fruit;
I longed for perfect deeds. And yet the thoughts
That bring deeds unto ripeness never came.