  I too have known my mutinies, Played with improvident desires, Gone indolently vain as these Whose lips from undistinguished choirs Mock at the music of our sires. I too have erred in thought. In hours When needy life forbade me bring To song the brain’s unravished powers, Then had it been a temperate thing Loosely to pluck an easy string. Yet thought has been, poor profligate, Sin’s period. Through dear and long Obedience I learn to hate Unhappy lethargies that wrong The larger loyalties of song. And you upon your slender reed, Most exquisitely tuned, have made For every singing heart a creed. And I have heard; and I have played My lonely music unafraid, Knowing that still a friendly few, Turning aside from turbulence, Cherish the difficult phrase, the due Bridals of disembodied sense With the new word’s magnificence. |
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