Of Life no master, I; nor would be so;
But when cold learned men would daunten me
By teaching how no soul has majesty
Save what some chance blown coccus can o'erthrow,
Good heart of grace I take; for none may know
The varied ways Death works his alchemy.
Proud in my mortal cloak's humility,
I tell myself it may be mine to go
More splendidly borne down; for men, though frail,
Not only from mean chances come to die -
From ungrudged grief, or love, my life may fail;
Or greater ending yet, I, even I,
May be annihilated by God's whim:
My end's sole cause because it pleased Him.