The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
TO THE MOLE. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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TO THE MOLE.
Thou creep'st in darkness, busy thing!
The progress of the brightest day
To thee can nothing chearful bring,
No soul-expanding ray!
For, ever lab'ring, ever dreary,
Thou never feel'st of sweet delight
That one, the proudest sense, which cheary
Scatters the sullen mist of night!
The progress of the brightest day
To thee can nothing chearful bring,
No soul-expanding ray!
For, ever lab'ring, ever dreary,
Thou never feel'st of sweet delight
That one, the proudest sense, which cheary
Scatters the sullen mist of night!
Thou can'st not see thy mazy way,
Slow yielding to thy gloomy toils;
Thou find'st no brightly smiling ray
Give pleasure as it smiles!
Thou know'st not, when thy task pursuing,
Where that dull task will end;
Or when, to work thy own undoing,
Thou bid'st the fairy hill ascend.
Slow yielding to thy gloomy toils;
Thou find'st no brightly smiling ray
Give pleasure as it smiles!
Thou know'st not, when thy task pursuing,
Where that dull task will end;
Or when, to work thy own undoing,
Thou bid'st the fairy hill ascend.
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And yet, poor, blind, incautious mole,
What am I, more refined than thee?
Tis true I own a sensate soul,
And all around I see!
But do I 'scape the snare that, waiting,
Crosses my dreary way?
Or, for myself an home creating,
Smooth busy life's precarious way?
What am I, more refined than thee?
Tis true I own a sensate soul,
And all around I see!
But do I 'scape the snare that, waiting,
Crosses my dreary way?
Or, for myself an home creating,
Smooth busy life's precarious way?
Do I not toil! and toil like thee,
Unknowing where that toil will end?
Do I not blindly seek to be
Of foes, unseen, the friend?
Can human wisdom shun the ruin
Which lurks my life to snare?
And still, the passions wild subduing,
Defy the bidden shaft of care?
Unknowing where that toil will end?
Do I not blindly seek to be
Of foes, unseen, the friend?
Can human wisdom shun the ruin
Which lurks my life to snare?
And still, the passions wild subduing,
Defy the bidden shaft of care?
Do I presume to scan the pow'r,
Which bids me, ever reasoning, try
To buffet with the stormy hour,
'Till Fate shall bid me die?
Do I, my future being knowing,
Trace what I then shall be;
Or, while this fervid heart is glowing,
Its long and freezing hour foresee?
Which bids me, ever reasoning, try
To buffet with the stormy hour,
'Till Fate shall bid me die?
Do I, my future being knowing,
Trace what I then shall be;
Or, while this fervid heart is glowing,
Its long and freezing hour foresee?
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |