Stones from The Quarry | ||
250
UNFULFILLED LIVES.
Some souls are like an instrument ill-played,Or seldom played, and seldom in accord.
Deep harmonies lie in them (like the word,
Thought's Incarnation, unwrit and unsaid),
But (still-born melodies) unutterèd
Pass out of Being; or if ever heard,
Like a note inarticulate of bird,
Murmur of wood or stream, vague sense conveyed,
Guessed at, not understood! So live they as
Enigmas to themselves—pearls in a deep
By diver never sounded; o'er a glass
Shadows that glide; forms half-grasped as in sleep.
Fortune turned not the key nor gave her “pass”
To action, but their hearts fast locked did keep.
Stones from The Quarry | ||