  What light was in me once unguarded was And any wind could blow it any way, A flame in tatters, with all moods for laws, Wildest at midnight, pallidest by day. A fire too tossed for comfort to the cold, A gleam too blurred for guidance to the dark, Shifting caprice of red and blue and gold Flickering wanly from the troubled spark; And other times a curl of azure smoke, Like the last puff of incense that is seen To vanish from the brazier, rose to cloak The light until I feared it never had been. But now the crystal-clear white globe of peace Has closed my spirit in, that it may burn Steadily to the stars, and henceforth cease |
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