 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE INNER LIFE.
Oh, there are eyes that look from out the PastWith sweet reproachful glances, and then close,
As if they half reproached themselves for those
Sad loving looks, which more than lightnings blast!
And there are shadows 'cross the sunshine cast,
Which intercept Hope's light; and—no one knows
How, whence—sad, sudden a chill thro' us goes,
As of Death's shadow, fore- or after-taste!
And there are still, small voices in the pause
Of passion and self-love; soft as a flower,
Which yet have that which more than thunder awes,
Fierce lightnings, from memorial clouds which lour
O'er sleep, of outraged Truth; before whose power
Mortality's coarse clay cracks, flies, and flaws!
| Stones from The Quarry | |