I cannot grow as men would have me grow,
By ordered plodding to a life complete;
Climbing the path with slow and heavy beat
Of tedious footsteps from the world below.
I cannot like a visible circle flow
Until by measured compass I can meet
The place I started from with weary feet.
That proudly point the obvious path they go.
Ah no,--mine be the instinct given to trust
That all will in the outcome fall aright.
Like a migrant swan still wandering since I must,
I'll fill a life's full cycle in my flight:
Though I soar into the clouds or sink to dust,
My orb will come around; I'll reach my height.