Poems (Kennedy)/Self-Conquest

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SELF-CONQUEST
IT was no use, the sharp revolt, The bitter protest of my soul'Gainst destiny that seemed to mock  And hold me from my highest goal.
I said that I would break the bonds,  That somehow I would master fate;Beyond pain's winding labyrinth  New spheres of hope I would create.
Alas! I only bruised my hands  Nor found a clue from out the maze, ​And so, heart-sick, I have come back—  Back to the parting of the ways.
And here, where hot rebellion dies  And selfishness has paid its dole,I see, far down the path abhorred,  The gleaming white light of my goal!
For primrose paths lead not to joy,  'Tis reached across the shards of pride;And he who'd find his better self  Must go back where the paths divide.

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