Preludes, 3

Upbraid me not, O world, that I forbear
To make this song of mine a sword to smite
The wrongs of nations and defend the right;
Nor that I fail, through some remoter air.
To follow proud philosophy even where
Through soundless skies she tracks the lonely height.
You say the world 's in darkness; in the fight
Of creeds conflicting bid me take my share:

In truth I am no coward, but I say,
Strive for the right you love so; quell the wrong.
I cannot rise and join you in the fray;
All I could give you would not be for long,
And might avail you nothing; go your way!
The grief that weds my soul requires my song.