Heroic Good, target for which the young <br />Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung, <br />And, missing, sigh <br />Unfruitful, or as disbelievers die, <br />Thee having miss'd, I will not so revolt, <br />But lowlier shoot my bolt, <br />And lowlier still, if still I may not reach, <br />And my proud stomach teach <br />That less than highest is good, and may be high. <br />And even walk in life's uneven way, <br />Though to have dreamt of flight and not to fly <br />Be strange and sad, <br />Is not a boon that's given to all who pray. <br />If this I had <br />I'd envy none! <br />Nay, trod I straight for one <br />Year, month or week, <br />Should Heaven withdraw, and Satan me amerce <br />Of power and joy, still would I seek <br />Another victory with a like reverse; <br />Because the good of victory does not die, <br />As dies the failure's curse, <br />And what we have to gain <br />Is, not one battle, but a weary life's campaign. <br />Yet meaner lot being sent <br />Should more than me content; <br />Yea, if I lie <br />Among vile shards, though born for silver wings, <br />In the strong flight and feathers gold <br />Of whatsoever heavenward mounts and sings <br />I must by admiration so comply <br />That there I should my own delight behold. <br />Yea, though I sin each day times seven, <br />And dare not lift the fearfullest eyes to Heaven, <br />Thanks must I give <br />Because that seven times are not eight or nine, <br />And that my darkness is all mine, <br />And that I live <br />Within this oak-shade one more minute even, <br />Hearing the winds their Maker magnify.<br /><br />Coventry Patmore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/faint-yet-pursuing/
