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Lo! Nature's law and God's—two angry fires—
Each the allegiance of my soul requires;
Strange God that made, unmake me what I am—
Or reconcile the law to my desires!
Who set this wine-cup in my willing way?
Who made this woman of enchanted clay?
When gods decree such difficult commands,
They should give too the power to obey.
'Tis but a fiat of impossible good,
A dream of high fantastic rectitude;
'Tis not for man, that lordly animal,
While of its ancient colour runs his blood.
If I were God, and this poor world were mine,
O thou shouldst see on what a fair design
I would rebuild it like a dream for thee,
Nor shouldst thou ever blush to call it thine.
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