And what brave life it was we lived that tide, <br />Lived, or essayed to live--for who shall say <br />Youth garners aught but its own dreams denied, <br />Or handles what it hoped for yesterday? <br />High prophets were we of the uncultured lay, <br />Supremely scorning all that to our pride <br />Seemed less than truth. Be truth the thing it may, <br />Our Goddess she, deformed but deified. <br />Prophets and poets of the Earth's last birth <br />Revealed in ugliness, a blind despair, <br />Only that we were young and of such worth <br />As still can thrive upon life's leanest fare, <br />And find in the world's turmoil its full quittance <br />Of joy denied, however poor the pittance.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xxv/
