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V
Yet draweth apace pale Winter. Oh! be sure
The secret that he bears we ill divine,
If at his presence we do scarce endure
And cease not to repine:
As though he wrought but some dank heartless tomb,
Into which all these joys decaying fade
At last, and do become
Disentegrate, mere senseless atoms laid
Forgetting and forgot.
No, no, ne'er such a lot
Foredoomed the creative aim of Nature's bounteous mind!
The secret that he bears we ill divine,
If at his presence we do scarce endure
And cease not to repine:
As though he wrought but some dank heartless tomb,
Into which all these joys decaying fade
At last, and do become
Disentegrate, mere senseless atoms laid
Forgetting and forgot.
No, no, ne'er such a lot
Foredoomed the creative aim of Nature's bounteous mind!
O ours be there now the grace to find
In riper vision how thou art no tomb,
Winter, but verily the fruitful womb,
Wherein for a while conceived Beauty lies
In secret nourished for rare enterprise
Of dawning light and glory!
In riper vision how thou art no tomb,
Winter, but verily the fruitful womb,
Wherein for a while conceived Beauty lies
In secret nourished for rare enterprise
Of dawning light and glory!
Ah! Yes!
Even thus, great Nature, shall we read the story
Thou in thy annual course to sentient ears art telling,
To stay with abiding light
Life's hours of changeful flight,
And from misgiving hearts their faithlessness dispelling!
Even thus, great Nature, shall we read the story
Thou in thy annual course to sentient ears art telling,
To stay with abiding light
Life's hours of changeful flight,
And from misgiving hearts their faithlessness dispelling!
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