II

WOULD I were done with flesh, or flesh with me,

— Frailty from frailty seeking prop and stay!—

Would that from all such trammels I were free,

Hindered no more by quagmires of the clay,

Then with an energy controlled and fierce

Might I on greater secrets turn, and fight

Through with unswathed and polished weapon; pierce

Through to some wisdom, to some lake of light.

A sinewy spirit, muscular and lean,

Should be my captain, striding ever on

Over harsh mountains where the wind blew keen,

Peak after peak, till the last peak was won.

Angry I strive, loving the world I hate,

Hating the flesh I love; but all in vain.

Freed for an hour, then, fall’ n from ghostly state,

Sink to the clasp of siren foes again.