Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 78

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LXXVIII
Other men may never careWhat thy thoughts, thy instincts were,   Care not thou;Wear the poet's halo bright,Long years hence in their despite,   On thy brow.
Narrow not thy walk to keepPace with those who, half asleep,   Judge thee now;Gain the goal and thou shalt hearMighty voices in thine ear,   "Blest art thou."
Not the many, not the fewKeep thou ever in thy view,   Steadfast now,Only this one thing fulfil,Thine own heart's tremendous will.   Ay, but how?
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