Sweet I blame you not for mine the fault
was had I not been made of common clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed
yet seen the fuller air the larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had
struck a better clearer song
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom battled
with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the
kisses that but made them bleed
You had walked with Bice and the angels on
that verdant and enamelled mead.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw
the suns of seven circles shine
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening
as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned
me who am crownless now and without name
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling
on the threshold of the House of Fame.