We go not to the grave as we arise
From childhood’s slumbers, in the outward face,
And the soul, looking out from human eyes,
Becomes corrupt and bitter in the race.
I deemed that I should pass into my age
As I began, warm, generous and kind,
And pausing here upon life’s second stage,
I turn and look upon a cankered mind!
I have o’erstepped my bound—I have passed by
The goal that none may pass and yet be pure,