Nor, thus untimely dying, shall the throes
Of mightier births touch thee, afar, asleep,
As back to youth divine the old world grows,
And forward into light the lost truths leap.
Not thine, upborne upon the gathering wave
Of spirit-forces, perfecting the man,
Thy joy to seek, thy crown of joy to have
In newly leading him to Canaan.
The toiler, human-free, and strong in might
And meekness, shall not come within thy ken;
Nor woman rising to her pristine height
Sublime of patriot and of citizen;
Nor that slow loosening of the secular chain
That binds the brutes in dumb, vicarious pain.