Chapter LII

The fancy thin!—I let him keep his word;
I would not argue.—Still, with care not loath
To guard some credit yet for having sense,
I hinted at the truth,—how I had changed,
And how had changed my thoughts about myself,
About my life-work. “For that fancy, friend,
That fancy thin my own true self reveal’d.
If spray it were, it left a constant sea
That heaves and heaves. With moods that move like mine,
So madden’d by traditions, calm’d by dreams,
Content scarce ever, till at hazard dash’d
Through ways that lead to sheer uncertainty,
Where fancy more may seek than matter shows
In things that are but matter,—what am I
For life-work such as priesthood, sure in creeds
And sureties for the soul, whereon may lean
All weaker faith, with warrant not to bend?”