 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
234
XXX. SOLITUDE WITHOUT VOCATION.
In this Seclusion, from the world secure,Her frauds, her force, her clamour, and her din,
O what a prosperous height might virtue win,
If, entering first these courts, the soul were pure!
But to a tainted soul, how weak the lure
Of outward things compared with snares within,
Where thought tracks thought, insatiable pursuer,
On through the inmost caves of lurking sin—
Dark thoughts which nobler presences had scared,
And palpable duties crushed! Ah, well of old
Fabled the priest, if priest he were or bard,
His Dian strenuous of life and bold:
A Huntress o'er the mountain summits hard,
Her couch beside the fountain calm but cold.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |