O Life, How oft we throw it off and think, -- 'Enough, Enough of life in so much! -- here's a cause For rupture; -- herein we must break with Life, Or be ourselves unworthy; here we are wronged, Maimed, spoiled for aspiration: farewell Life!' -- And so, as froward babes, we hide our eyes And think all ended. -- Then, Life calls to us In some transformed, apocryphal, new voice, Above us, or below us, or around . . Perhaps we name it Nature's voice, or Love's, Tricking ourselves, because we are more ashamed To own our compensations than our griefs: Still, Life's voice! -- still, we make our peace with Life.