40
And whether indeed they be or be not,
Try not, test not, feel not, see not:
'Tis walk and dance, sit down and rise
By leading, opening ne'er your eyes;
Stunt sturdy limbs that Nature gave,
And be drawn in a Bath chair along to the grave.
'Tis the stern and prompt suppressing,
As an obvious deadly sin,
All the questing and the guessing
Of the soul's own soul within:
'Tis the coward acquiescence
In a destiny's behest,
To a shade by terror made,
Sacrificing, aye, the essence
Of all that 's truest, noblest, best:
'Tis the blind non-recognition
Either of goodness, truth, or beauty,
Except by precept and submission;
Moral blank, and moral void,
Life at very birth destroyed,
Atrophy, exinanition!
Duty!
Yea, by duty's prime condition
Pure nonentity of duty!
