poem

tis the seat of the snail

ella wheeler wilcox 1916

but to every mind there openeth,
away,and away ,and away
a high soul climbs the higway
and the low soul gropes the low ,
and in between on the misty flats
the rest drift to and fro.
but to every man there openth,
a high abd low,
and every mind decedth
the way his soul should go
one ship sails East
and another West
by the self-same winds that blow
'tis the set of sails
and not the gales
that tells the way we go
like the wind in the sea
are the waves of time
as we journey along through life,
'tis the set of the soul
that determines the goal,
and not the clam or the strife.