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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
He died in youth:
So best! How fair a thing is youth like his,
Summed up and whole, from Innocence to Death
Wafted unstained! How beautiful to him
Whose age is but a maimed and mangled weight,
Whose life a long frustration! Such was mine:
They that most hated, they who fain had stoned me,
Belike too high esteemed me. All that life
Was conflict fierce of random purposes,
Poor nothings which the Hand that made all worlds
Alone could shape to good. I strove to plant
The convents of the East o'er all the West
Yet never was at heart a man recluse:
I said: ‘No choice is ours: dead Paganism
Breathes from its shameful grave a mist that slays:
Christians must flee the infected world.’ To me
Not high, not pure, a restless spirit ever,
Travel world-wide, strong studies, rule of men
In these I had large share. My books were acts;
I sent them forth to toil. The thoughts heaven-born
That, angel-like, dropt by Augustine's tent—
I love that man the more for conflicts past—
Sought not my cavern. 'Twas against my will
They changed me into Priest. Once, and but once,
I offered Sacrifice.
So best! How fair a thing is youth like his,
Summed up and whole, from Innocence to Death
Wafted unstained! How beautiful to him
Whose age is but a maimed and mangled weight,
Whose life a long frustration! Such was mine:
They that most hated, they who fain had stoned me,
Belike too high esteemed me. All that life
Was conflict fierce of random purposes,
Poor nothings which the Hand that made all worlds
Alone could shape to good. I strove to plant
The convents of the East o'er all the West
Yet never was at heart a man recluse:
I said: ‘No choice is ours: dead Paganism
Breathes from its shameful grave a mist that slays:
Christians must flee the infected world.’ To me
Not high, not pure, a restless spirit ever,
Travel world-wide, strong studies, rule of men
In these I had large share. My books were acts;
I sent them forth to toil. The thoughts heaven-born
That, angel-like, dropt by Augustine's tent—
I love that man the more for conflicts past—
183
They changed me into Priest. Once, and but once,
I offered Sacrifice.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |