Signs and Wonders

Though the Prophetess paints me and my love
Old, and filled with many days;
Though the prophet, in the age of Napoleon,
Prophesies me and my Phalanx of verse;
Though providence moves me,
And I am washed from head to toe by providence,
It moves by the string of faith;
Though my name is destined, and written
Strong, invoking Elijah, and a Crown Prince of Poetry;
Though the Lake Poets would try to build a pantocracy in my hometown,
And another poet married a woman whose name was that rare name of a friend's;
I look at myself, and like the old stoic say,
"I don't deserve what I want."

Do you now understand why I lack the faith to claim these?
The rag upon my head is like a filthy menstruous cloth;
Though it bend through the air to fulfill my predictions like a miraculous lot,
It is my deeds---my deeds---which prevent me from obtaining what I want.
We do not receive God's blessing because we believe we deserve it.
Rather, He gives for no reason, other than His own love for me.