I Must not Die of Pity

I must not die of pity; I must live; Grow strong, not sicken; eat, digest my food , / That it may build me, and in doing good

To blood and bone, broaden the sensitive

Fastidious pale perception: we contrive

Lean comfort for the starving, who intrude

Upon them with our pots of pity; brewed

From stronger meat must be the broth we give.

Blue, bright September day, with here and there

On the green hills a maple turning red, / And white clouds racing in the windy air! - If I would help the weak, I must be fed

In wit and purpose, pour away despair

And rinse the cup, eat happiness like bread.