Renaissance

O happy soul, forget thy self! This that has haunted all the past, That conjured disappointments fast, That never could let well alone; That, climbing to achievement's throne, Slipped on the last step; this that wove Dissatisfaction's clinging net, And ran through life like squandered pelf:-- This that till now has been thy self Forget, O happy soul, forget. If ever thou didst aught commence,-- Set'st forth in springtide woods to rove,-- Or, when the sun in July throve, Didst plunge into calm bay of ocean With fine felicity in motion,-- Or, having climbed some high hill's brow, Thy toil behind thee like the night, Stoodst in the chill dawn's air intense;-- Commence thus now, thus recommence: Take to the future as to light. Not as a bather on the shore Strips of his clothes, glad soul, strip thou: He throws them off, but folds them now; Although he for the billows yearns, To weight them down with stones he turns; To mark the spot he scans the shore; Of his return he thinks before. Do thou forget All that, until this joy franchised thee, Tainted thee, stained thee, or disguised thee; For gladness, henceforth without let, Be thou a body, naked, fair; And be thy kingdom all the air Which the noon fills with light; And be thine actions every one, Like to a dawn or set of sun, Robed in an ample glory's peace; Since thou hast tasted this great glee Whose virtue prophesies in thee That wrong is wholly doomed, is doomed and bound to cease.