1.

The irresponsive silence of the land,
        The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
        Speak both one message of one sense to me:--
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
        Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
        But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?--
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
        And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
        And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
        And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.

                                2.

Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
        Around me free and sunny and at ease:
        Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
        Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
        Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
        And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?
        But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
        But what I was I am, I am even I.
                                3.

Therefore myself is that one only thing
        I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
        My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
        From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative;
        Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
        I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
        A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
        And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?