O happy soul, forget thy self! <br />This that has haunted all the past, <br />That conjured disappointments fast, <br />That never could let well alone; <br />That, climbing to achievement's throne, <br />Slipped on the last step; this that wove <br />Dissatisfaction's clinging net, <br />And ran through life like squandered pelf:-- <br />This that till now has been thy self <br />Forget, O happy soul, forget. <br /> <br />If ever thou didst aught commence,-- <br />Set'st forth in springtide woods to rove,-- <br />Or, when the sun in July throve, <br />Didst plunge into calm bay of ocean <br />With fine felicity in motion,-- <br />Or, having climbed some high hill's brow, <br />Thy toil behind thee like the night, <br />Stoodst in the chill dawn's air intense;-- <br />Commence thus now, thus recommence: <br /> <br />Take to the future as to light. <br />Not as a bather on the shore <br />Strips of his clothes, glad soul, strip thou: <br />He throws them off, but folds them now; <br />Although he for the billows yearns, <br />To weight them down with stones he turns; <br />To mark the spot he scans the shore; <br />Of his return he thinks before. <br />Do thou forget <br /> <br /> <br />All that, until this joy franchised thee, <br />Tainted thee, stained thee, or disguised thee; <br />For gladness, henceforth without let, <br />Be thou a body, naked, fair; <br />And be thy kingdom all the air <br />Which the noon fills with light; <br />And be thine actions every one, <br />Like to a dawn or set of sun, <br />Robed in an ample glory's peace; <br />Since thou hast tasted this great glee <br />Whose virtue prophesies in thee <br />That wrong is wholly doomed, is doomed and bound to cease.<br /><br />Thomas Sturge Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/renaissance-8/
