What Are Years

What is our innocence, what is our guilt?
 All are naked, none is safe
 And whence is courage: the unanswered question
 The resolute doubt, dumbly calling
 Deafly listening
 That in misfortune, even death encourages others
 And in its defeat, stirs the soul to be strong?
 He sees deep and is glad,
 Who accedes to mortality and in his imprisonment
 Rises upon himself as the sea in a chasm
 Struggling to be free and unable to be
 In its surrendering finds it continuing
 So he who strongly feels, behaves
 The very bird, grown taller as he sings
 Steels his form straight up
 Though he is captive
 His mighty singing says, satisfaction is a lowly thing
 How pure a thing is joy
 This is mortality