It’s such a common glory, A fisherman’s degree!Redemption, brittle lady, Be so, ashamed of thee.
CXXXI
WHO never wanted,—maddest joy Remains to him unknown;The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine.
Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire’s perfect goal,No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul.
CXXXII
IT might be easier To fail with land in sight,Than gain my blue peninsula To perish of delight.
CXXXIII
YOU cannot put a fire out; A thing that can igniteCan go, itself, without a fan Upon the slowest night.
[69]
