 | Holy of holies |  |
10
VI.
[When I shall quail before the bitter blast]
When I shall quail before the bitter blast,That drives me desperate on the surf forlorn,
When on my shattered masts and canvas torn
Turning a hopeless eye, you see me cast
Prostrate my pride, and wail over the past.
And give the pitiless heavens excuse of scorn,
Craving to know the reason I was born,—
Then leave me having found me base at last.
Nay, as thou wilt: nay, leave me not at all,
For I am strong, but Heaven is merciless;
And man is weak on the elemental sea;
Nay when you come to find me thus a thrall,
I cannot let you leave me comfortless:—
I can but suffer you to pity me.
Aug. 1st, 1885.
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