Page:A father of women, and other poems, Meynell, 1917.djvu/30

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DEAR are some hidden things
 My soul has sealed in silence; past delights,
Hope unconfessed; desires with hampered wings,
 Remembered in the nights.

But my best treasures are
 Ignoble, undelightful, abject, cold;
Yet O! profounder hoards oracular
 No reliquaries hold.

There lie my trespasses,
 Abjured but not disowned. I'll not accuse
Determinism, nor, as the Master[1] says,
 Charge even "the poor Deuce."

Under my hand they lie,
 My very own, my proved iniquities;
And though the glory of my life go by
 I hold and garner these.

How else, how otherwhere,
 How otherwise, shall I discern and grope
For lowliness? How hate, how love, how dare,
 How weep, how hope?

  1. George Meredith.