The Poetry of Real Life A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison |
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ANSWER TO A QUESTION. |
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 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
54
ANSWER TO A QUESTION.
Thou ask'st me: “for how much I'd rob that nest,
Or hurt that poor bird: for what sum of gold,
A thousand pounds: ten thousand: wealth untold?”
How poor a view of Man's true interest,
And of his Being's scope, thy words suggest!
To ask if his best feelings could be sold
At any price, or if he wealth would hold
At price of being beggared in his breast,
Beggared at heart! great God, I would not harm
That poor bird's nest for worlds; my human soul
Would, more than an housebreaker, take alarm,
At forcing thus the sanctuary of this whole
Sweet world, and robbing thence its inward charm,
Its inner meaning, Wisdom's furthest goal!
Or hurt that poor bird: for what sum of gold,
A thousand pounds: ten thousand: wealth untold?”
How poor a view of Man's true interest,
And of his Being's scope, thy words suggest!
To ask if his best feelings could be sold
At any price, or if he wealth would hold
At price of being beggared in his breast,
Beggared at heart! great God, I would not harm
That poor bird's nest for worlds; my human soul
Would, more than an housebreaker, take alarm,
At forcing thus the sanctuary of this whole
Sweet world, and robbing thence its inward charm,
Its inner meaning, Wisdom's furthest goal!
Aye, this were truly to annihilate
The rich reward of many thoughtful years:
The truth, which in the well (whose waters tears,
Long settled, are, long chastened and sedate)
At bottom still is found, and ever late,
After long search, and many hopes and fears,
The compensation full for all arrears,
Which Time has suffered to accumulate!
Thou might'st as well pluck out at once thy heart,
As entertain the thought such act to do;
For then of this fair world thou 'rt no more part
And parcel: thou hast lost the inner clue:
Thou art in outer darkness: blind thou art,
Blind, not of eye alone, but of heart too!
The rich reward of many thoughtful years:
The truth, which in the well (whose waters tears,
Long settled, are, long chastened and sedate)
At bottom still is found, and ever late,
After long search, and many hopes and fears,
The compensation full for all arrears,
Which Time has suffered to accumulate!
Thou might'st as well pluck out at once thy heart,
As entertain the thought such act to do;
For then of this fair world thou 'rt no more part
And parcel: thou hast lost the inner clue:
Thou art in outer darkness: blind thou art,
Blind, not of eye alone, but of heart too!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |