When all occasions do appear to aim
At my defeat, and every half-wrong chance
Falls on the bias, I refuse to blame
Myself, or the surrounding circumstance;
Instead I float on by, and let defeat
Become another name for victory,
Changing not purpose, but direction. Sweet
May be success, but equally
The redirection of a failure seems
The vindication of my human reason:
I think it is maturer when one deems
Success a state of mind the will may season
And not a state of fact. What is, is, yet
I need not take it as a bar or let.
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