One dear brilliant woman；

    The best-endowed， the elect，

    All by their youth undone¹，

    All， all， by that inhuman²

    Bitter glory wrecked⁴.

    But I have straightened out

    Ruin， wreck³ and wrack⁵；

    I toiled⁶ long years and at length

    Came to so deep a thought

    I can summon back

    All their wholesome⁷ strength.

    What images are these

    That turn dull-eyed away，

    Or shift Time's filthy⁸ load，

    Straighten aged⁹ knees，

    Hesitate or stay？

    What heads shake or nod？