IF I have erred, O Lord, in love and pleasure Let this for all my failings make amend, Whether at noon of toil or eve of leisure: "He kept high faith with beauty to the end. "He loved her not in days of splendor only But in the gray of fogs, the dark of rain; In droning streets or woodlands wild and lonely She never called his poet-heart in vain. "The gray moth growing grayer in the moon-ray, The brown bee growing browner in the sun, The strong hills burning amber in the noonday, Or vales at dusk -- he loved them every one." Great God, when Thou dost grieve my wayward faring Let this one virtue all my sins defend; And may I hear Thy voice at last declaring: "He kept high faith with beauty to the end." |