 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
70
THE SECRET
I dreamed of peace, and woke to find unrest;
I laid rash hands upon the sweeping train
Of honour, but I bent and clutched in vain,
And patience frowned and mocked my bitter quest.
I laid rash hands upon the sweeping train
Of honour, but I bent and clutched in vain,
And patience frowned and mocked my bitter quest.
But one, who slipped unnoted through the throng,
Drew near me, and upheld my faltering feet,
And “Here” he said, “where faith and failure meet,
Here is the secret thou hast sought so long!”
Drew near me, and upheld my faltering feet,
And “Here” he said, “where faith and failure meet,
Here is the secret thou hast sought so long!”
As when the traveller, who long hours has scanned,
Beyond the blue horizon, wide outspread,
The sober solemn shadow of the hills,
Starts from his sleep to see how close at hand,
Fretted and channelled by a thousand rills,
Looms out the broad sun-dappled mountain-head.
Beyond the blue horizon, wide outspread,
The sober solemn shadow of the hills,
Starts from his sleep to see how close at hand,
Fretted and channelled by a thousand rills,
Looms out the broad sun-dappled mountain-head.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |