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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
THE FREED SPIRIT
Brother of sorrow and mortality!Not always shall we chide the failing flesh
That lets the netted soul to silence fly,
Like a wild bird that breaks the treacherous mesh;
Not always shall men curse in stormy sky
The laughter and the fury of a Power
That sees its chance-born children sink and die—
Hurling or death or life for dole or dower.
Who deep his spirit searches can deny
O nevermore, that life doth leave a trace
Of something not all heavenly; tho' we try
Daily to turn toward Heaven a stedfast face.
Even grief doth soil us with its poisonous breath—
Then free our spirits utterly, pure Death!
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |