 | Collected poems |  |
478
“WHEN FINIS COMES”
When
Finis comes, the Book we close,
And somewhat sadly, Fancy goes,
With backward step, from stage to stage
Of that accomplished pilgrimage . . .
The thorn lies thicker than the rose!
And somewhat sadly, Fancy goes,
With backward step, from stage to stage
Of that accomplished pilgrimage . . .
The thorn lies thicker than the rose!
There is so much that no one knows,—
So much un-reached that none suppose;
What flaws! what faults!—on every page,
When Finis comes.
So much un-reached that none suppose;
What flaws! what faults!—on every page,
When Finis comes.
Still,—they must pass! The swift Tide flows.
Though not for all the laurel grows,
Perchance, in this be-slandered age,
The worker, mainly, wins his wage;—
And Time will sweep both friends and foes
When Finis comes!
Though not for all the laurel grows,
Perchance, in this be-slandered age,
The worker, mainly, wins his wage;—
And Time will sweep both friends and foes
When Finis comes!
| Collected poems | |