A THOUGHT OF THE FUTURE.
Dreamer! and would'st thou know
If love goes with us to the viewless bourne?
Would'st thou bear hence th' unfathom'd source of woe
In thy heart's lonely urn?
What hath it been to thee,
That power, the dweller of thy secret breast?
A dove sent forth across a stormy sea,
Finding no place of rest:
A precious odour cast
On a wild stream, that recklessly swept by;
A voice of music utter'd to the blast,
And winning no reply.
Even were such answer thine—
Would'st thou be bless'd?—too sleepless, too profound,
Are the soul's hidden springs; there is no line
Their depth of love to sound.
Do not words faint and fail
When thou would'st fill them with that ocean's power?
As thine own cheek, before high thoughts grows pale
In some o'erwhelming hour.
Doth not thy frail form sink
Beneath the chain that binds thee to one spot,
When thy heart strives, held down by many a link,
Where thy beloved are not?
Is not thy very soul
Oft in the gush of powerless blessing shed,
Till a vain tenderness, beyond control,
Bows down thy weary head?
And would'st thou bear all this—
The burden and the shadow of thy life—
To trouble the blue skies of cloudless bliss
With earthly feelings' strife?
Not thus, not thus—oh, no!
Not veil'd and mantled with dim clouds of care,
That spirit of my soul should with me go
To breathe celestial air.
But as the skylark springs
To its own sphere, where night afar is driven,
As to its place the flower-seed findeth wings,
So must love mount to heaven!
Vainly it shall not strive
There on weak words to pour a stream of fire;
Thought unto thought shall kindling impulse give,
As light might wake a lyre.
And oh! its blessings there,
Shower'd like rich balsam forth on some dear head,
Powerless no more, a gift shall surely bear,
A joy of sunlight shed.
Let me, then—let me dream
That love goes with us to the shore unknown;
So o'er its burning tears a heavenly gleam
In mercy shall be thrown!
