Sara Teasdale’s speaker makes a proud, almost stubborn declaration: she would rather keep her flawed inner life than have a god or angels step in to fix it. Divine protection, with its “bright burning wings” and sudden order, feels like a kind of ownership to her. She chooses instead her own “frail guttering lights,” even though they are wind-blown and nearly out, and accepts the “terror of the nights” and the slow, painful search after doubt. The mood is quiet but fiercely resolute—vulnerable, yet unwilling to trade self-possession for comfort. To be lost, even to struggle in darkness, is better than letting her soul slip out of her own control. What she wants is not strength or salvation, but a “sole though feeble mastery” over her own spirit.
Mastery — Summary
I would not have a god come in To shield me suddenly from sin, And set my house of life to rights; Nor angels with bright burning wings Ordering my earthly thoughts and things; Rather my own frail guttering lights Wind blown and nearly beaten out; Rather the terror of the nights And long, sick groping after doubt; Rather be lost than let my soul Slip vaguely from my own control-- Of my own spirit let me be In sole though feeble mastery.