 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
171
OUTSTRETCHED HANDS.
IS there no sweetness save of ripened fruit?Lies all men's gladness in fulfilled desire?
Is no flame blander than fruition's fire,
That with swift flowerage burns away its root?
Life passes by, and still my heart is mute.
Day follows night; and yet the sky no nigher
Leans to my hope. Shall all my days expire
And all my soul grow grey with the pursuit?
Shall life waste alway in this torrid blast
Of unstayed passion? Oh! it cannot be
But that some day the spirit shall have cast
Its slough of lusts, that in some luminous sea
Surely a man's desire shall purgèd be,
Surely the early peace come back at last.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |