 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
BETTER.
That haunting dream of Better,
Forever at our side!
It tints the far horizon,
It sparkles on the tide.
The cradle of the Present
Too narrow is for rest:
The feet of the Immortal
Leap forth to seek the Best.
Forever at our side!
It tints the far horizon,
It sparkles on the tide.
The cradle of the Present
Too narrow is for rest:
The feet of the Immortal
Leap forth to seek the Best.
O beauty, trailing sadness!
Despair, hope's loftiest birth!
With tears and aspirations
Have ye bedewed the earth.
The opening buds of April
Untimely frost may chill;
The soul of sweet October
Faints out in mystery still.
Despair, hope's loftiest birth!
With tears and aspirations
Have ye bedewed the earth.
The opening buds of April
Untimely frost may chill;
The soul of sweet October
Faints out in mystery still.
What buriest thou, gay childhood?
Swift youth, what fled with thee?
Laugh'st at our losses, Sorrow,
As in some godlike glee?
Away, away forever
Our vessels seem to sail:
The Eternal Breath o'ertakes them;
Home speeds them every gale.
Swift youth, what fled with thee?
Laugh'st at our losses, Sorrow,
As in some godlike glee?
Away, away forever
Our vessels seem to sail:
The Eternal Breath o'ertakes them;
Home speeds them every gale.
The filmy gold and purple
Swathed not the hills we trod:
'T was hard and common climbing,
The bramble and the clod.
The bitterness we tasted
Was Truth's most wholesome leaven:
The friends who left us lonely
Are opening doors in heaven.
Swathed not the hills we trod:
'T was hard and common climbing,
The bramble and the clod.
The bitterness we tasted
Was Truth's most wholesome leaven:
The friends who left us lonely
Are opening doors in heaven.
48
And now the deeper midnight
Uncovers larger stars;
And grafts of glory bourgeon
From earthly blights and scars.
And now the mists are lifting—
The tides are rushing in—
'T is sunrise on the mountains!—
Lo! life is yet to win!
Uncovers larger stars;
And grafts of glory bourgeon
From earthly blights and scars.
And now the mists are lifting—
The tides are rushing in—
'T is sunrise on the mountains!—
Lo! life is yet to win!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |