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.