I am not of those miserable males <br />Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap, <br />Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap <br />Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails <br />Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked, <br />I know the devil has sufficient weight <br />To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate. <br />Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect <br />A coward, who would burden the poor deuce <br />With what ensues from his own slipperiness. <br />I have just found a wanton-scented tress <br />In an old desk, dusty for lack of use. <br />Of days and nights it is demonstrative, <br />That, like some aged star, gleam luridly. <br />If for those times I must ask charity, <br />Have I not any charity to give?<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xx-i-am-not-of-those/
