Sonnet 13 (Sonnets, 1833)

Too true it is, my time of power was spent
In idly watering weeds of casual growth,
That wasted energy to desperate sloth
Declined, and fond self-seeking discontent ;
That the huge debt for all that nature lent
I sought to cancel, and was nothing loth
To deem myself an outlaw, sever'd both
From duty and from hope, — yea, blindly sent
Without an errand, where I would to stray : —
Too true it is, that, knowing now my state,
I weakly mourn the sin I ought to hate,
Nor love the law I yet would fain obey :
But true it is, above all law and fate
Is Faith, abiding the appointed day.