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Poem	Am I failing ? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold. Glory she wears, but springing from the mould; Not like the consecration of the Past! Is my soul beggared? Something more than earth I cry for still: I cannot be at peace In having Love upon a' mortal lease. I cannot take the woman at her worth! Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed Our human nakedness, and could endow With spiritual splendour a white brow That else had grinned at me the fact I loathed ? A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. But, as you will! we'll sit contentedly, And eat our pot of honey on the grave.
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