The South Transept: The Epistle and Gospel XXIV

But time remains for hope : each angry thought
Against myself to turn, my bosom's pride,
And passionate complainings in me wrought
Vent on myself; how have I wander'd wide;
Woe is me, for the day will not abide ;
Shadows of eve are stretched out, and we
'Neath Night's dark wings our guilty heads would hide,
And steal to rest ; yet we can never be
As if we ne'er had been ; — but there the o'erwhelming sea