What could be more nice or soothing than the temptations of the saints?
What could they, that held the blood of christ do to contain themselves?
If this is my limit, my motion of failure, what saintly destinies do I posess?
Could this be but all forgiven?
Could I rend myself immaculate, bring to me an inner sanctity,
Hold to my heart mine image, and be glad?
If this is my limit I can't live with my self.
I cannot live to see the coming,
The burning times,
If this is.
Perhaps some day, in a time of greater depth of feeling,
We will look back upon this
And it will be pleasant to remember.