Behold the deed is done. Here endeth all <br />That bound my grief to its ancestral ways. <br />I have passed out, as from a funeral, <br />From my dead home, and in the great world's gaze <br />Henceforth I stand, a pilgrim of new days, <br />On the high road of life. Where I was thrall, <br />See, I am master, being passionless; <br />And, having nothing now, am lord of all. <br />How glorious is the world! Its infinite grace <br />Surprises me--and not as erst with fear, <br />But as one meets a woman face to face, <br />Loved once and unforgotten and still dear <br />In certain moods and seasons. So to me <br />The fair world smiles to--day, yet leaves me free.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-iv/
