OH, I am weak; a man am I of clay, Who has strange fevers racing in his blood Which drive me panic-like from paths of good; For I am son of sires who plunged in play, Knowing that they, at least, no price should pay; Bold cavaliers who with mad kings have stood In revel till their stock of fatherhood Passed half polluted to the present day. Yet though I 'm bound in chains which will not break, But which shall ever bind me hour by hour, Still have I faith He will in mercy take My hand in His, and give me of His power, And through the stormy years my manhood make As strong and firm as some great granite tower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SKY WRITING by MARY FINETTE BARBER QUESTION AND ANSWER by MATHILDE BLIND VALUES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MY GARDEN OF FRIENDS by NETTIE STEPHENSON BOWEN DEATH'S DIGNITY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. WIDENING CIRCLES by EDWARD CARPENTER AUTUMN AUGURY by LOTTIE HENDERSON CARY |