 | Words for the hour |  |
113
AS IT IS.
My soul is weary of this chant of woe
Where rhyme attends on rhyme, as tear on tear;
I sit beside the waning lamp, and wait
Some vigorous voice to break the spell of fear.
Where rhyme attends on rhyme, as tear on tear;
I sit beside the waning lamp, and wait
Some vigorous voice to break the spell of fear.
Slow lustres lead us from the wild surprise
Of early sorrows—stranger following strange,
Till in th' uncertain, billowy waste we see
No law save this, of unsubstantial change.
Of early sorrows—stranger following strange,
Till in th' uncertain, billowy waste we see
No law save this, of unsubstantial change.
In Childhood's Eden, Ill was ill at ease,
The swift irruption of some demon foe,
But the Grief-serpent fastens on the soul—
Thenceforth the struggle to our life we owe.
The swift irruption of some demon foe,
But the Grief-serpent fastens on the soul—
Thenceforth the struggle to our life we owe.
Fate, that can raise a beggar to a throne,
Mocks him and thee, can rob as well as give;
From every lov'd possession thou mayst learn
That thou canst be bereft of it, and live.
Mocks him and thee, can rob as well as give;
From every lov'd possession thou mayst learn
That thou canst be bereft of it, and live.
114
A Queen, whose airy footsteps spurned the ground,
Whose fingers were too fair for daintiest lips,
Mends her worn kerchief for a felon's end,
Scarce wondering at the desolate eclipse.
Whose fingers were too fair for daintiest lips,
Mends her worn kerchief for a felon's end,
Scarce wondering at the desolate eclipse.
Or men to life by keen enjoyment wed,
On th' unpitying wheel stretched suddenly,
Tease the pale headsman for the boon withheld
Of Death, their torture hunger's luxury.
On th' unpitying wheel stretched suddenly,
Tease the pale headsman for the boon withheld
Of Death, their torture hunger's luxury.
We who aspire to harmonies divine,
Taxing Creation for its master-tone,
Soaring to heights untenable and crazed
Were once the daring inspiration gone;
Taxing Creation for its master-tone,
Soaring to heights untenable and crazed
Were once the daring inspiration gone;
Let us be modest—we are rich to win
One jewel from the treasure-laden deep,
Or, from the wreck of affluent loves, to hold
A single faithful breast whereon to weep.
One jewel from the treasure-laden deep,
Or, from the wreck of affluent loves, to hold
A single faithful breast whereon to weep.
A breast to weep upon? oh! this at least,
I cried, with outstretched arm, and sudden wail;
Experience shuts our asking with one hope,
Trust in thyself, and God, who cannot fail.
I cried, with outstretched arm, and sudden wail;
Experience shuts our asking with one hope,
Trust in thyself, and God, who cannot fail.
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