 | Impressions of Italy and Other Poems |  |
307
STANZAS.
None can our heaviest, worst, of sorrows share,
The Depths of our own souls are like to Death;
We can take no fond, loved companion there,
But lone must tread that silent, shadowy path.
The Depths of our own souls are like to Death;
We can take no fond, loved companion there,
But lone must tread that silent, shadowy path.
There we hear things that others cannot hear;
There we see things that others may not see;
New Worlds there opening to our gaze appear,
New Worlds of Dream, and Cloud, and Mystery.
There we see things that others may not see;
New Worlds there opening to our gaze appear,
New Worlds of Dream, and Cloud, and Mystery.
Yes! we must tread those silent walks alone,—
Even to ourselves is the undertaking hard!
Ten thousand thousand shadows round them thrown,
Our progress ever lingeringly retard.
Even to ourselves is the undertaking hard!
Ten thousand thousand shadows round them thrown,
Our progress ever lingeringly retard.
Maze within maze we there must ever find,
More deep—more complex still as we advance;
Oh! the veiled depths of the quick Heart and Mind,—
These are not looked through with one hasty glance!
More deep—more complex still as we advance;
Oh! the veiled depths of the quick Heart and Mind,—
These are not looked through with one hasty glance!
| Impressions of Italy and Other Poems | |