    Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,
    And sell ambition at the common mart,
    And let dull failure be my vestiture,
    And sorrow dig its grave within my hear
    Perchance it may be better so - at least
    I have not made my heart a heart of stone,
    Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,
    Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknow
    Many a man hath done so; sought to fence
    In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,
    Trodden the dusty road of common sense,
    While all the forest sang of liberty,