WHEN the soul sought refuge in the place of rest, <br />Overborne by strife and pain beyond control, <br />From some secret hollow, whisper soft-confessed, <br />Came the legend of the soul. <br /> <br /> <br />Some bright one of old time laid his sceptre down <br />So his heart might learn of sweet and bitter truth; <br />Going forth bereft of beauty, throne, and crown, <br />And the sweetness of his youth. <br /> <br /> <br />So the old appeal and fierce revolt we make <br />Through the world's hour dies within our primal will; <br />And we justify the pain and hearts that break, <br />And our lofty doom fulfil.<br /><br />George William Russell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-discipline-3/
