 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
FERN-LIFE.
Yes, life! though it seems half a death,
When the flowers of the glen
Bend over, with color and breath,
Till we tremble again;
When the flowers of the glen
Bend over, with color and breath,
Till we tremble again;
Till we shudder with exquisite pain
Their beauty to see,
While our dumb hope, through fibre and vein,
Climbs up to be free.
Their beauty to see,
While our dumb hope, through fibre and vein,
Climbs up to be free.
No blossom—scarce leaf—on the ground,
Vague fruitage we bear,—
Point upward, reach fingers around,
In a tender despair.
Vague fruitage we bear,—
212
In a tender despair.
And we pencil rare patterns of grace
Men's footsteps about:
A charm in our wilderness-place
They find us, no doubt.
Men's footsteps about:
A charm in our wilderness-place
They find us, no doubt.
Yet why must this possible more
Forever be less?
The unattained flower in the spore
Hints a human distress.
Forever be less?
The unattained flower in the spore
Hints a human distress.
We fern-folk with grave whispers crowd
The solemn wood-gloom,
Or weave over clods our green cloud
Of nebulous bloom.
The solemn wood-gloom,
Or weave over clods our green cloud
Of nebulous bloom.
To fashion our life as a flower,
In weird curves we reach,—
O man, with your beautiful power
Of presence and speech!—
In weird curves we reach,—
O man, with your beautiful power
Of presence and speech!—
Yet the heart of the human must grope
Through its nobler despair;
For it can but look upward, and hope
All perfection to share.
Through its nobler despair;
For it can but look upward, and hope
All perfection to share.
And to dream of the sweetness we miss
Is not wholly in vain;
For the soul can be glad in a bliss
It may never attain.
Is not wholly in vain;
For the soul can be glad in a bliss
It may never attain.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |