A CREED

THAT I should live and look with open eyes

I count as half my claim to Paradise.

I have not crept beneath cathedral arches,

But bathed in streams beneath the silver larches;

And have not grovelled to the Sunday priest,

But found an unconfined and daily feast;

Was called ungodly, and to those who blamed

Laughed back defiance and was not ashamed.

Some hold their duty to be mournful; why?

I cannot love your weeping poets; I

Am sad in winter, but in summer gay,

And vary with each variable day.

And though the pious cavilled at my mirth,

At least I rendered thanks for God's fair earth,

Grateful that I, among the murmuring rest,

Was not an unappreciative guest.