in being too chaste. 
     The popular tale of adventure and crime
     Would equally sicken an overdone taste. 
     So, then, onward.  Philosophy, thoughtless to soothe,
     Lifts, if thou wilt, or there leaves thee supine.

     Thy condition, good sooth, has no seeming of sweet;
     It walks our first crags, it is flint for the tooth,
     For the thirsts of our nature brine. 
     But manful has met it, manful will meet. 
     And think of thy privilege:  supple with youth,
     To have sight of the headlong swine,
     Once fouling thee, jumping the dips! 
     As the coin of thy purse poured out: 
     An animal’s holiday past: 
     And free of them thou, to begin a new bout;
     To start a fresh hunt on a resolute blast: 
     No more an imp-ridden to bournes of eclipse: 
     Having knowledge to spur thee, a gift to compare;
     Rubbing shoulder to shoulder, as only the book
     Of the world can be read, by necessity urged. 
     For witness, what blinkers are they who look
     From the state of the prince or the millionnaire! 
     They see but the fish they attract,
     The hungers on them converged;
     And never the thought in the shell of the act,
     Nor ever life’s fangless mirth. 
     But first, that the poisonous of thee be purged,
     Go into thyself, strike Earth. 
     She is there, she is felt in a blow struck hard. 
     Thou findest a pugilist countering quick,
     Cunning at drives where thy shutters are barred;
     Not, after the studied professional trick,
     Blue-sealing; she brightens the sight.  Strike Earth,
     Antaeus, young giant, whom fortune trips! 
     And thou com’st on a saving fact,
     To nourish thy planted worth.

     Be it clay, flint, mud, or the rubble of chips,
     Thy roots have grasp in the stern-exact: 
     The redemption of sinners deluded! the last
     Dry handful, that bruises and saves. 
     To the common big heart are we bound right fast,
     When our Mother admonishing nips
     At the nakedness bare of a clout,
     And we crave what the commonest craves.

     This wealth was a fortress-wall,
     Under which grew our grim little beast-god stout;
     Self-worshipped, the foe, in division from all;
     With crowds of illogical Christians, no doubt;
     Till the rescuing earthquake cracked. 
     Thus are we man made firm;
     Made warm by the numbers compact. 
     We follow no longer a trumpet-snout,
     At a trot where the hog is tracked,
     Nor wriggle the way of the worm.

     Thou wilt spare us the cynical pout
     At humanity:  sign of a nature bechurled. 
     No stenchy anathemas cast
     Upon Providence, women, the world. 
     Distinguish thy tempers and trim thy wits. 
     The purchased are things of the mart, not classed
     Among resonant types that have freely grown.