Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!

He seems so near, and yet so far.

There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.

Fresh from brawling courts And dusty purlieus of the law.

So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be.

O Sorrow, wilt Thou live with me No casual mistress, but a wife.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

The great world’s altar-stairs, That slope through darkness up to God.

So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life.