Till the last sleep, from the blind waking at birth,
Bearing the weight of the years between the two,
I shall find no better thing upon the earth
Than the wilful, noble, faulty thing which is you.
You have not failed me; but if you too should fail me,
Being human, bound on your inviolate quest,
No matter now what the years do to assail me
I shall go, in some sort, a victor, down to my rest.