Now I become myself.

It’s taken Time, many years and places;

I have been dissolved and shaken, Worn other people’s faces,

Run madly, as if Time were there, Terribly old, crying a warning,

“Hurry, you will be dead before—”

(What? Before you reach the morning? Or the end of the poem is clear?

Or love safe in the walled city?)

Now to stand still, to be here, Feel my own weight and density!…

My work, my love, my time, my face gathered into one intense

Gesture of growing like a plant…

Now there is time and Time is young.

O, in this single hour I live All of myself and do not move.

I, the pursued, who madly ran, Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

May Sarton, Now I become Myself