 | [Awakening, in] A masque of poets |  |
15
AWAKENING.
Well—I said, it is all too trueThe story told to my childish ears,
That tears were many and joys were few,
And hopeless the weight of gathering years.
I never believed a word of the tale,
And turned to the sun and rejoiced in the day,
But a blow struck home and the light grew pale
Till bitter darkness beset the way.
Oh, what is it all? (I pondered),—what
This terrible life wherein we are set
Defenceless, whether we will or not;
Where the swift years weave us a golden net
Of joys so sweet and of hopes so bright,
Only to rob us day by day,
Slowly to take from the eyes their sight,
Steal all the body's senses away,
And deal to the soul such blows of loss
Through the hand of Death?—and there I ceased,
16
And a longing never to be appeased
Shook me with sorrow beyond all thought.
Outside I heard the spring wind sigh,
As if the pathos of life it caught,
And strove to utter it, wandering by.
When, in a moment, the door swung wide,
Sunshine and flowers and songs of birds
Swept in with you like a golden tide,
Sweetness and rapture too deep for words.
O Love, you brought to me youth and spring,
Took me by storm with a glad surprise;
And set my whole soul worshipping,
And saved my life with the look in your eyes!
And while you are left to me, no more
Can my heart be dull as a senseless clod,
While you hold me fast with those eyes so sure,
Humbly I reach for the hand of God.
| [Awakening, in] A masque of poets | |