 | Poems |  |
116
THE BROKEN CHAIN.
Captives, bound in iron bands,
Half have learned to love their chain;
Slaves have held up ransomed hands,
Praying to be slaves again:
So doth custom reconcile,
Soothing even pain to smile;
So a sadness will remain
In the breaking of the chain.
Half have learned to love their chain;
Slaves have held up ransomed hands,
Praying to be slaves again:
So doth custom reconcile,
Soothing even pain to smile;
So a sadness will remain
In the breaking of the chain.
But if chain were wove of flower,
Linked and looped to sister free,
With a Name and with an Hour,
Running down its Rosary;
Light as gossamers on green,
By their shining only seen;—
Would not something sad remain
In the breaking of the chain?
Linked and looped to sister free,
With a Name and with an Hour,
Running down its Rosary;
Light as gossamers on green,
By their shining only seen;—
Would not something sad remain
In the breaking of the chain?
But if chain were woven shining,
Firm as gold and fine as hair,
Twisting round the heart and twining,
Binding all that centres there
In a knot, that like the olden
May be cut, yet ne'er unfolden;—
Would not something sharp remain
In the breaking of the chain?
Firm as gold and fine as hair,
Twisting round the heart and twining,
Binding all that centres there
117
May be cut, yet ne'er unfolden;—
Would not something sharp remain
In the breaking of the chain?
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