A CREED

THAT I should live and look with open eyes I count as half my claim to Paradise. I have not crept beneath cathedral arches, But bathed in streams beneath the silver larches;

And have not grovelled to the Sunday priest, But found an unconfined and daily feast; Was called ungodly, and to those who blamed Laughed back defiance and was not ashamed.

Some hold their duty to be mournful; why? I cannot love your weeping poets; I Am sad in winter, but in summer gay, And vary with each variable day.

And though the pious cavilled at my mirth, At least I rendered thanks for God's fair earth, Grateful that I, among the murmuring rest, Was not an unappreciative guest.