Of the high mysteries, moved you not. Of such
The great throng-stirrers! And you stirred the throng
Who felt you honest and who knew you strong;
Racy of homely earth, yet spirit-fired
With all their higher moods felt, loved, desired.
Puritan, yet of no ascetic strain
Or arid straitness, freshening as the rain
And healthy as the clod; a native force
Incult yet quickening, cleaving its straight course
Unchecked, unchastened, conquering to the end.