I would not if I might. I would not cease,
No if I might, the penance and the pain
For that lost soul down somewhere in the past,
That soul of mine that did and knew such things
If I could choose; and yet I wish, I wish,
Such little wishes, and so longingly.
Who would believe me, knowing what I am?
"Now from these noontide hills my home, my time,
My life for years lies underneath mine eyes,
And all the years that led up to these years.
I can judge now, and not the world for me.
And I, being what I am, and having done
What I have done, look back upon my youth
—Before my crime, I mean,—and testify:
It was not happy, no, it was not white,
It was not innocent, no, the young fair time.
The people and the years passed in my glass;
And all the insincerity of my thoughts
I laid upon the pure and simple Nature
(Now all the hills and fields are free of me),
Smiling at my elaborate sigh the smile
Of any Greek composing sunny gods.
