 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
176
[VI. Not sometimes, but, to him that heeds the whole]
Not sometimes, but, to him that heeds the whole,And in the Ample reads his personal page,
Labouring to reconcile, content, assuage,
The vexed conditions of his heritage,
For ever waits an angel at the goal,
And ills seem but as food for spirits sage,
And grief becomes a dim apparelage,
The weed and wearing of the sacred soul,
Might I but count, but here, one watchlight spark!
But vain, oh vain! this turning for the light,—
Vain as a groping hand to rend the dark.
I call, entangled in the night, a night
Of wind and voices! but the gusty roll
Is vague, nor comes there cheer of pilotage.
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |